


Queen's Daughter

by RedSkittleQueen



Series: Sealink Trilogy [1]
Category: Alien vs Predator (2004)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, Gen, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-30 21:43:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1023730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedSkittleQueen/pseuds/RedSkittleQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sealink is a human living in a Xenomorph Hive until a hunter deems her worthy enough to be his slave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Queen's Daughter

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

 

 **A.N:** Heavily edited as of 12.24.11. Struck with the urge to clean this old relic up.

 

 **A.N#2:** Written to all four Battlestar Galactica soundtracks by the genius Bear McCreary.

 

.

 

Queen’s Daughter

 

.

 

I am Sealink.

I am the single human member of my family's Hive. The reason why _they_ accepted me is still a mystery, though now I don’t question it. All I know is my family, my friends, aren't like me. They are beautiful, with their hard black flesh and ribbed tails. Their lithe bodies are everything I am not: sleek when I am ponderous, lightening swift when I am slow, breathtaking when I am ugly. They are everything I am not, I, with my naked human flesh, my soft, blunt teeth and nails. More than anything in the world, I want to be them.

Perhaps you’re aware of these creatures. I’ve a feeling you do.

A long time ago, I think I may’ve been part of a human settlement. I say ‘think,’ because that had happened so many years ago. And I won’t delude you or myself: physically I _am_ human. That is without question. But whatever the reason, I was dragged away while my human counterparts were taken as hosts. Xenomorphs need hosts, I grew to learn. When I became older and witnessed several raids on other human settlements, I discovered Xenomorphs use humans or other animals as incubators for the Queen's young, a fate I’ve been spared. Instead, I was chosen as the Queen's daughter, something strange and precious kept in the holds of Her enormous claws.

I loved—and still love—them with all of my being. My origin is something tasteless and meaningless to me, but my childhood was one amongst them, where I grew and learned their ways and understood there was no turning back. They replaced any family I once had with the humans. Mother, my Queen. She took me as Her daughter, as Her apprentice, and Her child. She protected me, provided for me and loved me far more than anything else had ever. For Her, I am grateful for my life. And even now, when She is dead and Her empire is gone, I still remember.

It started with a young love, between a human girl and a monster.

 

.s.

 

A girl sat in the forest clearing, naked as the day she was born. Her body was ripe and firm, a young woman’s. She was neither tall nor short, her skin covered with scars and marks. Her name was Sealink. A breeze came through, bringing scents of pine sap and loam. A rustle came from the bushes, and out stepped a black monster, its edges long and jagged. Its chitin gleamed in the sunlight as it glided towards the defenseless girl, each of its motions sleek and lithe. The girl turned her head. A smile split her face and, unthinkingly, stretched her hand to touch the black dome of the head. Out of the fourteen Xenomorphs of the Hive, he was her favorite. She called him Damon. She watched, unperturbed, as the creature settled like a monstrous dog of chitin at her feet. A faint summer breeze came through, then left unnoticed. When the dome-shaped head reared back to observe a newcomer the girl returned to her inward thoughts. They were odd ones. For some reason, her mind toyed with a long-ago conversation she had had with the Xenomorph Queen, the Mother of them all. It had been about the race of hunters known as yautja. Sealink didn’t know what brought the thoughts on. Had it been a bad dream she had somehow forgotten? _Stupid yautja,_ the girl thought, overcome with the sudden urge to kill her phantom enemies. Her hand gripped into a fist. She daydreamed them falling under her knife. _They know nothing. When I finally see one, I’ll kill it._

The praetorian at her feet stirred, and like some languorous demoncat, stretched. He turned his eyeless head towards the girl and said: _What draws your thoughts away so thoroughly from here?_

Sealink smiled and at last paid attention to the Xenomorph at her feet. “Nothing. Just making a promise to myself.”

 _Promises are serious,_ the praetorian said. _They are not ‘nothing.’_

The girl laughed a little at that, her voice as careless as a river’s. “You’re becoming as serious as Kaylon, Damon. Relax! Enjoy the sunshine.”

 _I was,_ the praetorian said. His lips peeled back from even silver teeth. _Then I heard you thinking a storm. And I am not as serious as Kaylon,_ he added, as if in afterthought.

A little silence fell between the two unlikely friends. Sealink let herself admire the swooping dome of her companion’s head, the four spiky limbs sprouting about the shoulder plates, and the great, ribbed tail. The sunlight speckled the creature blue. A frown marred her forehead.

“Damon, have you ever seen a yautja?”

 _Yautja!_ Damon hissed in the air, opening his jaws wide. _What brought that foul subject on? Was that what your mind was hovering about?_

Sealink shrugged. “It could’ve. It’s just—”

The girl fell instantly silent as an odd stirring filled the clearing. There was nothing physical to denote a change in the air, but somehow all the creatures fell as still as the girl. Then:

_Sealink. Come to My chamber. I must speak with you._

All the Xenomorphs turned their heads and watched for Sealink's response. It was unconscious. The girl bowed her head and rose. She walked the small hike to where the Queen lay nestled between two boulders. It was in deeper in the forest, in a secluded spot. She made her way down and froze when the Queen raised Her regal crest to regard the human girl. Sealink's heart sped up at the sight of the ghastly visage of the Xenomorph matriarch. Though her fear had dissipated after all the years living with them, the old awe refused to let go. There was nothing soft or inviting about the Queen, but as Sealink sunk down in front of her caregiver, she knew to her the Queen _was_ beauty, and as she let herself be dwarfed in the aura of the Queen's presence, her gut twisted with yearning. _I will never be beautiful like her._

_Sealink._

The girl bowed her head in submission. "Mother."

The Queen Mèlintèlinas shifted Her awesome bulk, settling like a dog, Her shoulder and side of Her body resting on a sun-warmed stone.

_I am glad you've come. I have felt the planet move under the impact of a ship._

"A ship, Mother?"

_Yes. I sense the presence of yautja._

"Yautja!" Sealink couldn’t repress the heightened shiver coursing down her back.

_The day I have feared has arrived. They are here._

Sealink raised her head. The Queen lowered Her own head all the way down and Sealink was close enough to reach out and stroke the cool, smooth shell of the Queen's head. The thrum the Queen gave Sealink was more powerful than a thousand drones'. Even more powerful, it seemed, than Damon's, whose thrum filled her with such fullness. As the girl continued to stroke the mighty Queen, she said, breathless, "Please, let me deal with them. Let me."

At that, the Queen sunk Her head even lower. At first Sealink was confused. She hummed, trying to bring her Queen back. The great dome was cool beneath her fingers. A strange, twisting unease bloomed within her in the expanse of the matriarch’s silence.

“Mother?”

The Queen's voice hardened and grew cold, so cold that Sealink cowered.

_Very well._

Sealink curled herself submissively to the ground, whining in subjugation. "Your anger is scaring me, Mother."

The voice remained chilled, as if a great door had closed on the warm persona Sealink had always associated with the Queen. _The mere thought of yautja fills Me with such hate. Beware, My child, for they will one day strike you a most terrible blow. Forgive Me, child?_

Again, Sealink was filled with a vague, nameless unease. "There’s nothing to forgive," she said, even though she wanted to add, “Why are You asking for my forgiveness?”

The Queen thrummed, but it was a lackluster sound. Confusion now shot through the girl. It hurt her that her Queen would not tell her what was wrong.

 _G_ _o and deal with these trespassers. I am so tired . . ._

A relieved smile broke across the girl’s face. "Rest, Mother. I will deal with them. Rest. Sleep."

_Yes . . . sleep . . ._

The presence in Sealink's mind slowly ebbed and receded, until it was nothing more than a pinprick. Sealink slowly got up, finally stopping her ministrations.

"They will never strike me down, Mother. I vow it."

 

.

PART II

.

 

Sealink sat on Damon's shoulders, her knees between his four spikes. Behind them was the other praetorian. He was more military in character than Damon, much more intent on to protection of the Hive. All the same, Damon was the dominate of the two, not because he was bigger, but because he had a cleverness to him the other didn't possess. In rare moments, Sealink sometimes dared to think it mimicked a human's. She would quickly shake the idea away. It distressed her to think her friend anything like a human. Sealink called the other Kaylon, the fighter. When Kaylon _did_ talk, he was curt, polite, quiet, nothing at all like the one she sat on.

Sealink leaned in forward. "I think I see them!"

Damon crouched even lower and without a sound glided over the ground, picking up speed. Kaylon followed suite, as silent as Damon. Soon, they were in the small glen. Sealink slid off and padded across from the shapes. The two praetorians followed. When they were concealed by a good number of bushes, Sealink began to observe her enemies.

"There’s four of them," she said. Damon and Kaylon were silent, letting her think. Her heart was thundering. She had never seen yautja before. She could almost _smell_ them, their musk thick and hot in her nose. She hated them the instant she saw them. They were big, far bigger than she remembered the stories depicting them to be. They wore a sort of mesh over their pebbly, yellow frames. Long tresses covered their shoulders. Each wore a gray, pewter mask, ugly compared to the savagery of her Xenomorphs. But there was something menacing about them, something about the way they hulked and moved, which gave her previous bravado pause. "I think the big one is the leader. The other three are youngbloods.”

 _We could take them all,_ said Kaylon, his voice expressionless.

“Should we warn them?” Sealink asked.

 _That would be best,_ Damon said. _We are eight strong, but four yautja will not leave us unharmed. You do it; you know their tongue._

Sealink nodded, took a deep breath, and stepped out of the bush.

"Trespassers! Leave planet!"

She spoke in broken yautja, tripping over the words. She loathed feeling the words on her tongue, but was suddenly glad the Queen had teach it to her, since the Queen Herself had been a captive once on their ship for their deadly game. But for all her gladness, a small, niggling thought darted through her mind: _Did that mean the Queen knew I would encounter a yautja one day?_

All four of the yautja stood at their impressive heights, their leader standing the tallest at seven feet. They were unmoving, solid mountains of living meat. Sealink repeated her message, hating them all the more. Predators. Yautja. Foul meats. Hunters. It did not matter what they were called—they were all the same. They hunted. Their culture, their religion, their very way of life was sick and wrong and went against everything Sealink could understand. And they had done the unthinkable: They hurt her Queen.

The Predators did not answer, but one of the younger ones started walking toward her, growling behind his mask, his steps purposely loud and deliberate.

Sealink had imagined this moment. Imagined whipping out her little dagger and throwing it with such force and accuracy it would strike the yautja a killing blow. Imagined being the hero of the Hive. Imagined waking her Queen to the bloody carcasses of four Predator trespassers.

But she couldn’t. She stood, suddenly struck with stupefied numbness at this Xenomorph killer, this destroyer of Hives. The fingers around her dagger were senseless. Her legs would not work. _So tall,_ her mind muttered. In her mind she couldn’t have pictured a more devilish assailant. They looked so _human_ with their upright bodies and predatory movements.

The Predator gave a roar and suddenly raced forward. Sealink would have died there, dumb with fear, had it not been for Damon leaping from the overhanging tree branch, impaling the hunter. The hunter convulsed, an odd chattering sound emerging from his mask. Damon ripped his head up, and, chittering in his Alien way, his muzzle coated with fluorescent green blood, he padded over to where Sealink stood. Sealink did not even break contact with the lead Predator. Kaylon dropped besides her as well, taking his place by the girl's other side. Cold aggression rolled off his carapace like musk.

The Predator remained where he was. Sealink took comfort in the two protective walls of black. The Predator flexed his fingers. He jutted his muzzle out and growled behind the mask in his hunter’s tongue, “Who the hell are you?”

Sealink lifted her lips and twitched them up and down, just as Aliens do. She growled back, “Queen’s daughter. You no stay. You no welcome. Kill you.”

The Predator growled deeply. “Is that a challenge, ooman?”

"Yes. Me challenge yaut-ja."

The hunter took off his mask. Sealink took a step back from surprise. His oval-shaped face was covered with tiny black spikes and pebbly skin. His brows were low and brutish, the eyes beneath them like hers. His crab-like mandibles flared with aggression. When he did, he flung it in the bushes and he slowly reached for the self-destruct computer.

Besides her, both Damon and Kaylon tensed, their hisses growing louder.

"No. Not yet," Sealink said them.

The two of them, still hissing at the Predator, refrained from attacking.

The Predator slowly took off his self-destruct and flung it in the bushes as well.

“I will not fight you,” he said.

For a moment, Sealink didn’t know what to do. The hunter had no desire to hurt her? Anger overtook her, driving away the cold webbing of fear still clinging to her limbs. She felt her face flush. She wanted to hurt. It suddenly wasn’t enough for two of the yautja dead; she wanted all of them to suffer, to suffer as her Queen had. She glowered at the beast, this hateful man-creature. She turned around. With a roar that shook the leaves on the tree, the Predator struck his chest with his fist, the beady eyes red with hatred. The girl’s eyes grew round as the hunter’s mandibles flared wide, the deep, rumbling snarl building in his throat. It was an ugly sound to the girl's fine-tuned ears, alien and threatening. Uglier still was renewed fear coursing through her veins. Sealink flinched between the two praetorians, half-curling her body away. In an instant, all of her daydreams of defeating a Predator in one-on-one combat turned to ash. _There’s no way,_ she thought, _no way that thing can be that terrifying._

The Predator rushed, howling something else in his hunter’s tongue, but Sealink couldn’t catch it. She felt Damon tense beside her, his sinuous muscles cording like snakes. With the grace of a striking weasel the praetorian launched himself at his ancient enemy. The ground trembled beneath the meeting of the two massive bodies. Grunts and battle _skree_ ’s filled the air as violence ripped through the clearing. Kaylon moved his body to shelter Sealink but she peeked through his forelimbs to witness the fate of her favorite hivemate. As she watched, part of her frozen in utter terror at the sheer violence each side smote upon the other, another part grew hot. Her breaths came light and fast, eyes round, heart a painful clench as Xenomorph battled yautja. _No,_ the dim, clinical part of her said, _I’m watching_ Damon _fight the yautja._ Inside she ached. More than anything she wanted to help her friend, and the sheer helpless frustration made her fist her hair.

Then her vision cleared. The scenery stilled, condensed. The girl took a breath, calmed, then moved.

As swift as a scampering youngling Sealink darted past Kaylon’s protective arms and into the fray. The air was so thick with musk her eyes watered. Someone was screaming. Sealink didn’t stop to care. Without pausing, she whipped out her little stone dagger and stabbed it with all her might in the monster’s thigh. She was so close to the resulting roar of rage she bit tongue and drew blood. Something dark zoomed overhead. The next moment she was tumbling head-over-heels into the bushes. A dull ringing began to build in her ears, whining. Sealink stayed where she had fallen, confused and aching. She blinked blood out of her eyes. _Blood?_ she thought. She gingerly tried to move a hand, and sagged in relief when her body obeyed.

A shadow fell across her face. Sealink turned her eyes upward to the unsmiling maw of Kaylon’s muzzle.

 _Injured?_ the praetorian said after a moment, lips curling from teeth.

“No,” Sealink said. She grimaced as she struggled to sit upright. Kaylon shifted backwards, then fell to the side as Damon shouldered his way through. His muzzle and much of his eyeless head was splattered with glowing green blood. Ribbons of flesh hung from his teeth. His cold, scentless breath fanned her face, cooling it. Where he was cut Sealink couldn’t see, though she knew his blood would be fatal to her.

 _Are you hurt?_ he said, maw stretching in a parody of speech.

Sealink shook her head in a negative, helping herself up with Damon’s forearm. She grimaced as yautja blood squelched beneath her hand. She let go quickly and wiped it clean.

“Is it—?”

 _Dead, yes,_ Damon said.

Sealink looked over to the carcass still pumping fluorescent blood all over the scarred ground. One of his hands had been cut, sliced clean as if by a knife. His face was turned away, for which the girl was suddenly grateful for. She looked away, thoughts buzzing and unsettled. A black muzzle butted her elbow. Damon. He pushed her gently, but still she jerked to find her balance.

_What is it?_

Sealink sighed, wiping the blood off her fingers. “Let’s go,” she said. She scanned the surrounding area, then hoisted herself astride Damon. “There’s nothing left for us here.”

Without another word the praetorians began to move, and Sealink found herself embracing the familiar comfort of a swaying world. She didn’t notice a pair of yellow eyes following their movements out of the glen.

 

.

PART III

.

 

 _Was it a big battle? Did you kill everything? What happened!_ Zizar, the tiny youngling of the Hive, leapt and squeaked, little throat thrumming louder than a nest of cats. Sealink resisted the urge to bat him away. The unsettled feeling hadn’t gone away, and her head had begun hurting. The image of the unmasked Predator, hulking and leering, curdled any thought of amusement from her mind. _They were only few in number,_ she thought. _What if there were more . . ._

"Ouch! Zizar!" Sealink said when the youngling’s enthusiastic claws scratched her unguarded skin. She hissed at him.

_How big were they? Did you rip them apart? Can they fly?_

"Zizar, one day you'll be just as big and strong as Damon or Kaylon to find that out by yourself," Sealink said. “Now leave me alone.”

As the little Xenomorph bounded off, Damon padded besides her and attempted to nibble at her neck. Sealink swatted him aside and moved away, snarling. The praetorian became still, as if turned to stone. Then he stiffened. Damon rose onto the pads of his hands and arched his spine, a dripping hiss escaping his jaws as steam does a kettle’s spout. Sealink spun around at the first sound. When she remained there, unbelieving, upright, the praetorian’s hiss sharpened, grew cold. Surrounding Xenomorphs quickly slunk away.

Sealink crouched in the unfamiliar position of a submissive hivemember, her mind still stupid in disbelief, her body small and pale compared to the bulk of the praetorian. She didn’t move as the Xenomorph glided towards her. She had seen this behavior before, but always from afar. Never had she been the cringing hivemember. Its cold reality suppressed the previous emotional confusion of the morning.

_What’s going on._

It was a statement, not a question. Sealink cringed further at the praetorian’s expressionless tone. A tiny part of her, the same dim, clinical part that had spoken up during the battle, spoke now. _He’s a praetorian,_ it said. _He’s always been. You’ve just been blind to it._ Something bitter rose in her throat before she ruthlessly quashed it. _I am Hive,_ she thought. _I must play my part._

“The fight with the yautja disturbed me,” she said, and in an instant felt Damon’s body relax.

_Oh, is that all! Sealink, why did you not just say so?_

Sealink raised her face to the eyeless one. He was Damon again. She reached out and touched the underside of his jaw, feeling the minute tendons and exposed ligaments. They were cool to the touch, as if left in the shade on a summer’s day. Damon leaned into it. Sealink found herself hugging him around the neck, not in an Alien’s embrace, but in a strangely instinctive one. Little did she know she was hugging him as a human embraced another. She didn’t say anything; she still didn’t know how to put how she felt in words. But the culture which had seen much of her upbringing had little to do with words, and Damon didn’t ask again.

 

.s.

 

Sealink was dreaming. It was a familiar one. It was night, with huge fires coming from the shattered human dwellings. It had been right after a successful raid on a human settlement. She was standing over one of the humans. The features of the face were cloudy, as if smudged, but the eyes were vivid. They were pain-filled and frightened, like an animal’s. Dream-Sealink stared, mouth agape. She didn’t want to be around this stinking, terrified creature. She couldn’t possibly have anything to do with it, though it looked so much like her. She wanted to look away. When she tried to, a Xenomorph, under orders of the Queen, held her in place. Sealink had never felt so terrified, or betrayed. Never before had she been forced to do something she didn’t want. Sealink saw the man die as a youngling burst from his ribcage.

Sealink woke with a start and for a moment, thought she was still in the dream. Screaming—it could be nothing else—ripped in her ears. She shot up, her body a tuning fork. The sunlight was blinding. Then she saw the source of it.

A drone thrashed and spasmed, a spear impaling her to the ground. She was screaming her death throes. Sealink took one look at the weapon’s design and knew in her heart she had found the source of all her unsettlement.

“Yautja,” she breathed.

A small body stirred besides her. Sealink looked down and saw Zizar trembling at attention, tiny lips peeled back from minuscule teeth. Before the girl could address the youngling— _what do I do? What do I say?_ and, dimmer still, _Why isn’t the Queen reacting?_ —Damon appeared. He was as during the battle: bristling, tense as a live wire.

_Sealink! Get everyone rounded together. We must get out of here._

“Where—”

_Doesn’t matter. Anywhere. I trust you._

And Damon was gone, tearing up clumps of soil in his haste to join Kaylon, who was in the middle of grappling with a yautja.

“Zizar, I need you to head for trees,” Sealink said, scooping up the small Xenomorph and making him face her. “Understand? Find a hiding spot. Don’t stop for anything.”

The youngling hissed and spat and twisted in her grip, as if trying to escape. Sealink shook him once and snarled. The youngling grew still.

“I said get out and hide! Obey me!”

Without waiting for a word or sign of acquiescence Sealink dropped Zizar and got up. There were eight yautja in the clearing, twice as many as the first time. They formed a half-ring, moving with practiced ease. They rippled with muscle, their musk thick and hot in the air. Blood dribbled from unimportant wounds. Another drone lay dead, throat cut from an expert slice. Xenomorphs milled about, at once bunching up and finding themselves isolated. _This is a disaster,_ Sealink thought. She took a deep breath and _skree_ ’d as loud as she could above the chaos.

“Everyone! To me!”

The remaining seven drones reacted with a single motion, dropping whatever they were doing and coming to the girl’s side. They crowded around her, filling her vision with walls of jostling hissing black chitin. Several shook with tremors, though whether from fear, stress, or tension, she was unaware. Sealink reached out touched one.

“We’re no match. We have to escape, or they’ll cut us down. Zaphara, I want—”

Whatever else she was about to say was lost to a furious scream. The girl froze, her heartbeat curiously dull in her ears. Then she was shoving drones out of her way, pushing until she was free. She stood in the clearing, quiet as she saw Damon held in a headlock in one of the Predator’s arms. His black throat was exposed. The yautja’s twin wrist blades tickled it, teasing the skin. Damon had gone still, knife-tail quiet on the ground. The other yautja had gone still as well, their pewter masks turned toward the two enemies. Their expectancy hung in the air, palatable.

“I see I have your attention, ooman,” the yautja holding Damon said. His voice was richer than yesterday’s yautja, more refined. Automatically Sealink knew without a doubt this was the leader of the hunting party. The metal mask cocked, its cold and emotionless face facing down hers. The long dreadlocks reached down to the male's waist. The skin seemed to have a more orangeish tint that the others, with black-and-tan diamond patterns lacing his flesh. His mesh covered his body, and a metal loincloth covered his nether regions. He seemed armed only with a disk, a spear, and his wrist blades, which were still dangerously close to Damon’s throat.

Sealink found herself crouching in the same submissive posture as yesterday, her teeth bared back in a snarl. Her eyes stayed unwavering on Damon. Distantly, the yautja continued speaking.

“. . . have come to claim you as my slave, ooman. You have proved yourself to be worthy of such an honor.”

At first, the girl was positive the yautja was taunting her. _It’s a trick, a cruel joke before he kills Damon,_ she thought. She didn’t answer, refusing to give into his cruelty. The mood in the glen shifted, tingeing with danger. The leader’s blade touched Damon’s neck. The praetorian shifted, then grew still as the tip nicked his skin. A bead of acidic blood welled, then dropped to the forest floor with a faint hiss. Sealink licked her lips. She tasted salt.

“Wait,” she said, forcing her tongue around the harsh hunter’s language. “Wait. Forgive me. Not sure if joke.”

The surrounding yautjas clicked and _kurr_ ’d. It sounded like hellish laughter, like locusts. Only the leader didn’t join the click-click- _kurr_. His pewter eyes remained on Sealink’s. A Xenomorph’s nonexistent eyes were more expressive than the blank slits carved in the mask. She hated them. She clenched body around the words.

“Spare kainde amedha,” she said, “Me go.”

The click-click- _kurr_ returned, only to be severed when the leader growled. Damon hissed softly.

 _What are you telling them?_ Damon said, but Sealink ignored him. Her attention rested on the Predator’s.

The metal mask cocked. “How do I know I could trust you?” he said. The voice was rougher now, hard. “How could this kainde amedha’s life hold you to your word?”

But he already knew the answer; Sealink could feel it. With the slow dawning of horror, she realized the plot all along. _They saw me leave with Damon and Kaylon,_ she thought. _This fight isn’t for killing them, it’s for capturing me!_ For some phenomenal, inexplicable reason, this yautja wanted her for a prize. _Maybe he saw me help kill his followers yesterday,_ she thought, _and wants revenge. And when he saw how close I was to Damon . . ._ It suddenly all made perfect sense. And as she truly saw Damon caught in the Predator’s grasp, she understood now how cunning these monsters could be. _You were right, Mother,_ Sealink thought. _I should’ve feared these creatures from the start._

Sealink crouched lower in a Xenomorph’s submission. Like the buzzing of a disturbed wasps’ nest, sibilant hissing began to fill the clearing. The yautjas tensed, and Damon clicked his jaws as the duo blades pressed harder. Another drop of acidic blood spat to the ground.

“Stop it, all of you!” Sealink said. One by one, the hissing ceased. She looked at the lead Predator’s mask and said, “You have word. You know why.”

 _Sealink!_ It was Damon. He was beginning to struggle and curl his lips. _What are you telling them?_

“Stop struggling,” Sealink said to Damon, licking her dry lips. “Stop.”

The praetorian quieted.

A moment later, the yautja spoke. “Impressive,” he said. He looked from the girl crouched in front of him to the Xenomorph in his arms. “I want to you to swear loyalty. Swear, and make this kainde amedha docile. Otherwise, I will tear its head off.”

Sealink was watching the scene from afar, floating on the comfortable cloud of disbelief. _This is all a dream,_ she thought. _I’m still asleep._ This was ridiculous. Twenty hours ago was another world, bright and faraway. But the blood dripping from Damon’s neck was too real, and the two twisted carcasses of the fallen drones were too vivid to ignore. _I can’t let him die._ Sealink knew this. She knew any choice she made paled in comparison.

Slowly, Sealink nodded. Her head felt as if it were stone. “Damon,” she said.

The praetorian went still. _Sealink._

The girl closed her eyes. “When I tell you, I want you to go still. You are not to attack the yautja. When—”

_Sealink—_

“—you’re free, you’re going to lead the Hive to safety. You’re not going to come back.”

 _Sealink, so help me, speak clearly. What are you saying._ The warrior in Damon was back, his words ferociously cold.

“I’m letting them take me as their slave to save you.”

When Damon began to snarl and twist in earnest, Sealink stood. “ _Stop!_ ” she said. Her eyes burned, her face flushed. “You are going to do as I say, or as by the All Queen, I will kill you myself. You are not going to let myself sacrifice for nothing.”

Damon became stone in the yautja’s hold. _They will make you wish they killed me,_ he said, voice colourless.

Sealink wheezed, teetering on the brink between laughing and crying. “They’ll have to try first.” She lowered her head and voice. “I’ll come back. I promise.”

Damon said nothing, nor made any motion showing he understood. He was marble for all he moved. The girl returned her gaze to the yautja and bobbed her head. “Done. He swear. Me swear.” She swallowed. “Me yours.”

The answer seemed to please the yautja. A curious sound emerged from his throat, a purring _kurr._ He lowered his blades and stepped away from the still-frozen Damon. The surrounding hunters tensed again, low growls rumbling deep within their chests. Sealink twitched her head. Damon started, as if waking from a malevolent dream. He shook himself once like a monstrous canine, then began gliding towards the huddled circle of drones. He brushed past Sealink without a word. But before the girl could despair, the knifetip of his tail briefly slid by her shoulder, drawing a burning line across her skin. She clasped a hand to the shallow wound and watched as Damon began to bully the drones into the forest. Kaylon rose to aid him, and together the praetorians led the small Hive to safety. Zizar chirruped once before falling into confused silence.

Then they were gone.

It was only then did Sealink turn slowly to the silent ring of yautja. She stared at the lead yautja, motionless, her heart a live thing churning in her chest.

The Predator reached for some cord from his belt and without saying anything, bound the girl's hands together. For such meaty paws, his fingers were surprisingly nimble. He tied them tightly, making sure the knots held firm. During the whole process Sealink did not fight nor made any move, willing herself to be stone. Damon was safe, along with the others of the Hive. That was all what mattered. _That’s what it means to be a Queen,_ she thought when her own mind wondered about her own Queen. _Sacrifice._

When he was finished, the Predator stepped back, regarding the girl with his clicking _kurr_. Sealink took her eyes away from her hands and stared deep into the glassy eyes of the mask. For a long moment, the two of them regarded each other, Predator and human. One, with scarred soft skin, grey eyes, dirty blonde hair. The other, with rubbery dreadlocks, reddish pebbly skin, pewter mask. He regarded her for a second longer, then said,

“There is one thing you will have to learn, and that is respect. You will hold your tongue unless asked a direct question, and even then you must be civilized. Understand?”

Sealink had barely begun to nod before the yautja began to stride away, strides swift and purposeful. The girl had little choice but follow. Within moments the other members of the hunting party surrounded her, forcing her at an almost-jog to keep from hitting the one bringing up the rear. She had little time to contemplate the end of her tranquil existence when she was out of the clearing, and beyond.

 

.s.

 

It took over three hours for the hunters and the captured girl to reach the ship. The leader strode up to a point and pressed a button. With a sputter and cackle of blue electricity, a ship solidified from nothingness. Sealink jerked and almost fell in surprise, much to the derision and amusement of the yautja. Their _kurr_ ing laughter mocked her, even as she licked the blood off her wounded shoulder to hide her face. One of them laughed ha-ha-ha, making her wonder why he did that.

Before she knew it she was being shoved into the open maw of the ship. She jumped again as her bare feet made contact with the cool metal grating, but instead of laughter, she was jostled to move faster. She skittered forward, leery of their hot touches. The ship groaned. She froze where she stood, eyes a rabbit’s. The ship shuddered beneath her legs and with a distinct hiss, the latch closed behind them, throwing them into darkness. No, not total darkness. Murky red lighting gave enough distinction to the surroundings to allow Sealink to see enough. The air was different, hotter. It was not crisp and clean, as it had been in the forest. It had an odd odor to it, bitter. The girl wrinkled her nose and hissed. Such was her mimicry that one of the smaller yautja reached for his combistick.

The leader of the yautja led Sealink to the lower levels. Sealink tried at first to keep track of every twist and turn they took, but in the end the labyrinth of seemingly identical tunnels made it impossible for her. Her heart, already a heavy knot in her chest, clenched. Like her situation, it seemed like no way out.

At last her guide stopped in front of a cell and with an aggressive motion, opened the metal door. The hunter turned and waited, the pewter mask gleaming dulling in the red lights of the ship. Its carved eyepieces were dark. Sealink let herself in, but not before the yautja cut her bindings. She was rubbing her wrists when the Predator slammed the metal grating shut. The wall and door was some sort of glass, allowing her to see out. Sealink jumped and scooted to the farthest corner, hissing softly, not taking her eyes off her captor. She backed away and tucked herself in as the yautja regarded her from the other side.

“You will stay here until we reach the homeworld, ooman,” he said, voice smooth and sonorous. “You will regain your strength that you will need to serve me.”

He leaned in farther out in the cage, his metal face emotionless. “You will obey me unquestioningly—any hint of insubordination and you will be beaten. You will show utter respect to the others on my ship. Otherwise, you will be beaten. If you show any disrespect to others, they will be allowed to beat you. Obey me, show respect and the proper form of edict . . . and you will survive, my ooman kainde amedha.”

With that, he departed, leaving the door to close automatically, leaving Sealink alone for the first time since the fateful morning. The girl slumped against the warm grating, feeling more exhausted than ever before. She stared ahead at nothing, her body aching, her mind numb, her eyes dry. The cut Damon had left behind throbbed, but Sealink curled into it, resting her cheek on the swell of her deltoid. _Damon._ She tightened. Tears of bitterness and homesickness threatened to spill. And when she felt the ship shudder beneath her in flight, Sealink began to cry.

.

PART IV

.

 

Sealink did not keep track of the days or how long she was on the ship. Boredom and self-pity and memories were her constant companions. Food and water were brought to her at continuous intervals. She ignored the guards, always kept her back to them and only ate the food and water they brought after they were gone, refusing to let them see her take food like a handfed pet. She paced when she was alone, her body swinging in motion while her mind went blank. It took seven large steps to cross the distance from one side of the cell to the other. There were no holes or grates she could slip into, save one air duct far out of her reach. Even if she could escape through it, where would she go? She had no idea how to escape a ship, let alone commandeer it. The walls weren’t just her cell: her entire situation was.

One day, as she was wondering what the Zizar was doing— _Probably annoying Kaylon, or begging Damon to hunt_ —a movement caught her eye, but she did not turn. A guard? No guard was that small. The girl slowly turned her head and saw a child. She went into crouching position. Even from there she stood the same height as the young yautja. It looked exactly like one of the full grown yautja. _Must be one of their young,_ thought Sealink as she gazed at it. A male? She peered closer.

The little yautja did not wear a mask, his noseless crab-like face exposed. The little yellow eyes latched unblinking on hers, staring as frankly at her as she it. They were wide and curious within the sunken sockets. Sealink studied them unabashed. It was rare for her to interact with anything intelligent with eyes. Of all the wonderful features the Aliens possessed, eyes alone were Sealink’s heritage. The four tiny clawed mouth-mandibles twitched, as if unsure where to go. His head was huge in comparison to his small body, lightly jagged with premature spikes around the crown of his rounded skull. He did not wear dreadlocks like his larger counterparts; the ‘hair’ fell about his shoulders in dark, flat curtains. His flesh was patterned predominately orange. He was dressed in nothing but a fish net mesh and a metal loincloth that covered his nether regions. At his wrists, he had dulled blades.

Sealink's curiosity got the better of her. She slinked toward the glass wall on all fours. She paused in front of the small Predator, and then sat down, one leg up, the other folded across the floor.

For a long moment the two of them regarded each other, the girl and the hunter. Finally, the little Predator pointed a pudgy finger at her and said in his hunter’s tongue, "Ooman."

Sealink shook her head. She jerked her chin up. “Kainde amedhe.”

The youngling—Sealink didn’t know what else to call yautja offspring—flared his little mandibles.

“Ooman!”

Sealink eyed the youngling for a moment, then took a deep breath to unleash her fiercest battle _skree_. The youngling stumbled back, mandibles and eyes flaring as her cry vibrated off the metal walls of the cell and corridor. Sealink found the little yautja’s gaze and leaned forward.

“Kainde amedhe,” she said, and bared her teeth in a ferocious grin.

The last of the echoes fell away and once again the corridor was silent, save for the ever-present hum of the ship’s inner workings. The youngling gazed back, expression stone for all it told. Sealink searched the child’s eyes hungrily, daring them to argue, daring them to say, _You are not kainde amedhe._ She was tight and hot beneath her skin, her throat itching to scream again. But she could see nothing. Before she could peer closer, the youngling clacked his mandibles and was gone. The girl sat back in the dim redness, alone again, friendless in a world not her own. The victory won her no happiness.

 

.s.

 

Sealink thought it was impossible. She had been sure she had frightened off the child yautja for good, yet for some reason she found him staring outside her cage. This time the youngling was a healthy distance away, his crablike mandibles twitching slowly. Sealink crouched and scuttled closer until she was within kissing distance of the cage’s glass wall.

“Ooman kainde amedhe _,_ ”the child yautja said. His expression was closed. His little teeth shone dully in the red light.

Sealink grunted. That was what the elder yautja called her. _No matter what I do, or how I act,_ she thought, _there will always be some part of me ‘ooman.’_ The girl brushed some of the old bitterness aside. She nodded her head for the baby Predator’s benefit. The child cocked his head, his slick cloud of ‘hair’ trailing over shoulders. With a start, Sealink realized the child was dressed in mock armor, complete with wrist blades. _Or maybe it’s real armor, only little-sized._ She hissed. How far did this culture take fighting? Her surprise was quickly turning to disgust when the youngling spoke.

“Why are you here?” he said.

Sealink grunted away and looked away. “Taken from home.”

“Why?”

“Me slave.”

“Why?”

Sealink turned a jaundiced on the child, then remembered Zizar. She almost shook her head to push the image away, fresh pain welling from the unhealed wounds. It would do little good to remember what she had lost, not when reminders stood in front of her. But like Zizar, the little Predator was a blank slate. He was not yet a savage and staunch member of the hunting culture. One day he would be, as Zizar would one day be a sleek killing machine. But today, he was a child.

And with that, Sealink sighed, and submitted herself to the young yautja’s questions.

 

.s.

 

Everyday, little by little, the baby Predator would come down and visit with Sealink, some days not speaking a word, others, chattering nonstop. Eventually the girl grew to look forward for the meetings. He would always come alone, for which the girl was grateful. It broke the continuous boredom of the cage and she actually grew to like the little Predator. He seemed a little like Zizar in his questions, so much so it gave her a pang in her heart every time she saw him. She had tried at first to make herself unemotional, to appear strong, but in the end she realized how it would one day leave her cold and bitter. So she embraced the pain she felt, accepted it, and knew it would forever remind her of the promise she had made to Damon. _I will return._ The promise burned in her chest every day. Sometimes the vow made her incapable of speaking. Others, it allowed her fluidity to her tongue.

In return for effort the child yautja put in the visits, Sealink used her halting, broken yautja to tell the baby wondrous tales of hunts and fights and journeys with her Hive. She told of Damon and Zizar and even a little of the Queen Herself.

It then surprised Sealink at the youngling’s own volunteering of information. From what she made out, the child's sire was called Dauncha, the leader of the ship. It was he who took her captive and made her his slave. Sealink was quiet when she learned this, and said nothing until the child left. It unsettled her to think she would perhaps one day kill the child’s father in an effort to escape. Then the youngling, if she didn’t kill him too, would no doubt be bent on vengeance. She would be hunted down like a dog.

Such was the girl’s thoughts when she felt the ship give a final shudder and went quiet. She didn’t move as the trumping sounds of heavy bodies made their way to her cell. There were three yautja, all armored and hulking. Each wore a mask. The most reddish one of the three stepped up. After a moment of flicking at the control panel, the door opened with a pneumonic hiss. Sealink shrunk by the wall, tense and wary, her motions born from anxiety. The red yautja made his way to where Sealink was and grunted,

“Your hands.”

The girl allowed herself to be trussed up as she had on the first day, letting the organic cord bind her hands together. The yautja hot skin sent shivers down her back. Finally her hands were bound. She was motioned to get up and to follow. Sealink did as she was told, sandwiched between the mountains of muscle. Other yautja were in the corridors, the bitter odor of excitement and musk thick in the air. Once she thought she caught sight of the child yautja, but the moment was too quick and before she knew it she was being prodded down another corridor. The air begun to turn cleaner, but hotter. Sealink felt sweat break out across her brow as she was led towards the open entrance. With a final prod, the girl stepped onto the ramp.

Blinding light. Heat. Thick, thunderous smells. Sealink squinted and turned her head against the onslaught of sensations, stunted after so many days in near-darkness. She spat-hissed in pain. From the cuff she received, she had been heard.

Little by little her sight returned. What she saw made her swallow hard. Wherever this place was, it was nothing like her native forests. The sky was a reddish sienna, as foreign a concept as the dark, thick mass of vegetation filling the outskirts of the yautja city. The air was humid, settling around her like a second skin. Two suns, tiny but sweltering, beat down hard. The immediate scene before her was nothing her previous experiences had prepared her for. There must have been forty, fifty yautja gathered around the base of the ship’s ramp. Beyond them had to be a hundred more. Beyond that looked to be a small civilization, their walls as red as the sky above. And beyond that—

“Move it,” a yautja said, growling through his mask. Sealink went on, back straight and chin high, gaze far-seeing. She refused to cry. She could feel a multitude of eyes study her as she passed. Her hypersensitive ears could hear guttural whispers and snippets of conversations among the ranks.

“. . . an ooman? What is it doing here? . . .”

“. . . alive? Dauncha must be getting soft . . .”

“. . . odd smell. Just like kainde amedhe . . .”

Then she was through. Some of the yautja from the hunting party remained behind. The red yautja from before and one other led her away from the main fray and took her towards the ‘huts’ she had noticed before on the ramp. The noise was louder here than before: hoots and cries echoed from within the jungle. Noises, too, emerged from within the dwellings, clicks and roars and clicking _kurr_ ’s. Sealink made a note to give everything a wide berth.

The red yautja led Sealink into one of the huts. She had barely enough time to take stock of her surroundings when the yautja was clicking at her to move. It was cooler here than outside, the roof above giving much-needed shade. The floor beneath her bare feet was worn smooth from use. She passed four large rooms, though she didn’t get a chance to see what any of them were for. There was an outdoor area, full of sand, in the middle of the dwelling. As Sealink tried to keep up with her ‘guide,’ seeing the home of a yautja suddenly made something click inside her. If the sandy area was a training area, then everything else—the chambers for sleeping, eating, bathing, gathering—flanked it. Mother had told Sealink before, but this was first time the girl had seen it for herself. Hunting was more than yautja’s culture: it _was_ yautja.

The realization made her curiously quiet inside. The customary loathing flickered when the red yautja brought her to a small room. For some reason, it also had the glasslike wall as on the ship. Sealink frowned. _Was this place made for me?_ she thought. _And if so, did that mean they long planned my capture?_ Her head was spinning with implications as the yautja attached her bindings to a pole in the centre of the small. She didn’t even bother testing the bindings. She stood motionless, quiet, mimicking the stillness of a tense Xenomorph. The yautja regarded her for a long moment, the _kurr_ soundrolling quietly in the barrel chest. Then he stepped aside to allow the leader of the hunting party entrance.

Sealink’s eyes narrowed. For the first time since she had been captured, she saw what her enemy’s face looked like. It was exactly like the baby yautja’s, except where the child’s had been rounded with baby fat, this one was lean and scarred. Spikes and black markings ringed the elongated, flattened forehead. Bands of orange stripes brindled his reptilian, pebbly skin. His dreadlocks snaked gently across his still-armored shoulders, his four mandibles stretching and clicking when they converged together. Behind them, the lipless maw of toothy jaws grinned. Sealink didn’t react when the fierce yellow eyes latched onto hers.

“You will reside here when your duties are finished or whether you’re not needed,” he said.

Sealink continued to stare.

The red yautja began to rumble, only to stop at a quick motion of his superior. The leader— _Dauncha_ , Sealink thought—opened and closed his jaw in a parody of speech.

“This is your new home. I have ordered you not to be killed, but any mark of disobedience, and you will be beaten. You will find respect will improve your life greatly here.”

Sealink lowered her head. “If me not?” she said.

The Predator took a looming step forward. Sealink was backing up before she realized it. The hunter cocked his head and said quietly, “We both know you will, because you want to remain alive. You still hope you can rejoin your kainde amedhe Hive.” Something dark shone in the yautja’s gaze, then was gone. The girl shifted under his scrutiny.

“Keep the hope,” the yautja said quietly, “for a spiritless prize is as good to me as a dead one.” With that, he turned and left, disappearing through the dim archway of the entrance.

The red yautja clicked. The metallic eyepieces gleamed. “Your new life will begin tomorrow at first light, ooman kainde amedhe.” Then he too was gone, leaving Sealink shaken and confused, wondering why her enemy would tell her to hope. She slid down and sat at the base of the pole, forcing herself to close her eyes and rest. She touched the mark Damon had given her on her shoulder. _Damon,_ she thought. _I’m coming._

 

.

PART VI

.

 

Sealink was quiet and awake when Dauncha appeared by the door the next morning. He wore nothing but a metal loincloth, a belt, taloned sandals, leather wrist bands, and body mesh. His mandibles flared and came together when he saw her. He entered and slit the cable holding her hands together and said, “Come _._ ”

Sealink trotted behind the orange hunter, following him outside toward the sandy area she observed yesterday. Another yautja was waiting. The girl blinked when she noticed the size difference: this one was taller than Dauncha, his dreadlocks reaching his biceps. His face was almost pink with the amount of scars and slashes mottled across his face. One of his mandibles was snapped clean off. One of his hands was a dark, long stick. Yet for all his gruesome appearance and demeanor, he thumped his chest in a mark of obvious submission. Dauncha grunted in response before pushing Sealink towards him. She side-stepped and sidled in place like a spooked horse. She felt like a rabbit beneath the scrutiny of wolves.

The two yautja looked at each other until the huge Predator snorted with disdain. “So,” he said, his voice a heavy growl. Scorn laced each word. He passed the stick over to Dauncha. “This is the ‘ooman kainde amedhe’ that you talked so much about.” A pause. “Don’t seem like much.”

Dauncha click-click- _kurr_ ’d. His teeth were sharp, like his eyes. “She may not seem like much, but you should see her fight. A she-n’akudhe, if I ever saw one.”

The other yautja grunted. “Then why didn’t you capture one of those instead of this scrawny ooman? I’ve seen bug specimens bigger than this one.”

Dauncha chuckled again, then flicked a mandible at Sealink. “Here’s why.” He turned to her. “Scream,” he said.

Sealink hesitated, eyes cutting from one yautja to the other. Dauncha’s gaze cooled, grew chilled. When he spoke again, it was as if each word was coated with ice. “I said, _scream._ ”

She licked her lips. Dauncha raised the dark stick.

A bloodcurdling cry ripped through the air as Sealink screamed for all her worth. She was on all fours before she knew it, back rounded, tendons cording in her neck, hands clawed fists. Spittle flew from her mouth. It was the battle roar of the praetorian, of the warrior of the Hive, not mindless but filled with savage hatred, with lust for death. When she was done she was panting, chest heaving, her face flushed. She licked her lips, low hissing still bubbling from her chest.

There was silence for a moment. Then: “Well,” the other yautja said. He grunted, rolled his shoulders. “Well.”

Dauncha’s mandibles drifted in lazy circles, eyes half-closed. “And that’s only the tip of it. I’ve seen her move, seen her in battle. It’s amazing, Ra’ka.”

“And she’s . . .?”

“The only one, yes. Out of all the hunted worlds, she is the only of her kind.” The gleam was back, brighter than ever. Sealink climbed to her feet, hackles still raised. She rubbed the sand away from her sweaty hands. She could sense something was building in the air, like a storm, heavy and foreboding. Her throat ached from the scream, but it was a pleasant one. She touched the base of her throat, thinking of when she had last done it with Damon or Kaylon by her side. With grim effort she beat the wave of homesickness back. She cruelly forced herself to pay attention to the two yautja in front of her, driving herself to remain grounded in the present.

“ . . . can’t promise,” the large one—Ra’ka—was saying.

“But you can arrange it, yes? I know for a fact grey Te-kn’ha keeps a few for training purposes,” Dauncha said.

The grizzled yautja’s maimed mandible flicked and twitched. He remained silent for a moment longer, then said, “Broken her yet?”

Dauncha clicked. “Right after this.”

“Want me to do it?”

“Yes.”

“Then . . .”

“Two weeks, maybe three, depending on how it goes.”

“Then find Te-kn’ha after?”

“Yes.”

Ra’ka rolled a shoulder, the muscles bulging. Dauncha handed the dark stick to the larger Predator. His mandibles flared wide, the widest Sealink had yet seen, before subsiding again. He rumbled somewhere deep within his chest. “You know what to do,” Dauncha said.

The other snorted. It was an ugly sound. Sealink watched as Dauncha began to back away, his great clawed feet crunching in the gravely sand. Before she could make a sound the staff descended upon her thigh with enough strength to pull her to her knees. Sealink cried out in pain as a dull, hot throbbing bloomed beneath the skin. A deep grunt pulled from the huge Predator’s mouth as he circled around, the black stick swinging with undisguised menace. Sealink flung a look at the yautja standing motionless several feet away. His expression was stone for all it expressed. _But I didn’t do anything bad!_ Sealink thought as she scrambled out of the way of the next swing, which clipped her hard on the shoulder. She spat a ferocious hiss. The huge yautja jerked back with deep grunt. Sealink stared hard at Dauncha, betrayal and hurt a bitter mixture in her stomach. Had yesterday’s talk of hope been for nothing? The stick appeared again, scoring along her flank. Sealink hissed again and spun, realizing there would be no protection coming from her captor. She and the towering Predator circled, she scuttling on four feet, he crouching on two. His mandibles flared wide, a jagged growl spilling between the humanlike jaws. Sealink bared her teeth.

“Me fight!” she spat.

“Ho-oh! So it talks, too!” the yautja said. The stick came whistling through the air. Sealink attempted a feint, but the grizzly old yautja saw right through her movements and compensated. The stick struck her hard on her ribs, catching her as she tried to dart past. Sealink felt something give and pain exploded. She yelped, curling inward. A clawed foot lashed out, throwing her in the air. Instead of landing on her side she caught herself on hands and feet. She stayed there, breathing hard. The Predator was hardly emitting any musk, the mandible movements lazy. He strode forward, motions calm and unhurried, as if he had done this a thousand and one times. Sealink narrowed her eyes and let a _skree_ escape her. If it startled the yautja, there was no sign of it.

She crouched as the Predator drew closer, waiting, waiting—with the reflexes honed after years of living with the sleek Xenomorph, Sealink ducked the stick’s blow and darted close—close enough to kiss the yautja’s abdominal muscles. The hot smell was almost unbearable. She could sense the repulsive yautja all around her. Her instincts screamed at her, screamed danger. Somewhere she heard a grunt of surprise as she propelled forward, leaping upward for all she was worth. Mouth wide open, she closed it on the first thing she caught: part of the webbing between the mandibles. Then bit down. Hard.

A roar blasted in her face, slashing her with spittle and hot, stinking breath. One of her ears went numb and began to ring. Foul-tasting blood squirted in her mouth and she almost gagged, but refused to let go. The meat was both slimy and leathery. She felt her body being scrabbled at with hot paws, but she kicked and twisted, biting harder and harder. She squeezed her eyes shut. She was being tossed, her body swinging. She punched, trying to aim for the yautja’s eyes.

There was a ripping sound and Sealink felt herself flying in the air. She hit the ground hard, jarring all the air from her lungs. She coughed into the sand, spitting the flap of skin out. Bitter green blood coated her mouth.

A shadow fell across her, and before she knew it she was bodily tossed in the air. Sealink fell hard again. She grimaced in soundless pain and attempted to climb to her feet. She gasped when a thick pebbly hand found the back of her neck, its warmth searing her skin. She was hoisted in the air as if she weighed nothing and dangled there. She scrabbled at the hand which held her, eyes wide, mouth gaping. Her legs kicked at air. She caught sight of the huge yautja’s face before the stick fell: it was as if someone had taken a machete to it. Florescent blood fell freely from the mangled flesh. One of the mandibles drooped, as if the tendons holding it up had been cut. But the Predator’s eyes were flint, gleaming yellow from deep within the sunken sockets. If Sealink had been afraid before, she was terrified now. She began yelping, hoping the submissive sound would appease the great beast, but there was no forgiveness in the alien eyes. At the first true blow of the stick, the yautja began to beat her in earnest, and no wail or plea made him stop.

 

.

PART VII

.

 

The girl leaned on the stones, dipping a hand in the water trough and pulling it up full. She lapped at it, used to the faint rotten-egg taste. She dipped it in again for another drink, raking her eyes over the empty courtyard. It was still before morning, the sky a heavy purple colour. Few clouds hung overhead, still tinged with the pink of the massive moon hanging in the west. Some animal cried out in the jungle, then fell silent. The girl’s body tensed, even after the long pause when nothing filled the void. She lapped her second handful of water, then moved away.

It had been two weeks since the near-death beating at the hands of Dauncha’s Head Trainer. The worst of the purple bruising had faded, splotches of green and yellow remained. She no longer needed rough hands to bathe her or feed her. She was able to move around without hitch. She no longer limped. She no longer urinated blood.

But inside something had changed. Though she now averted her eyes like a proper slave, they were hard, unsmiling. She no longer breathed easy, her every sense keyed for some unknown threat, some unknown hurt. She trusted nothing but herself. She ate food without enjoyment, wolfing down whatever given to her with the ferocity of a starving dog. She hardly spoke, even when addressed. Though never outright disrespectful enough to earn her a beating with the black stick, she was surly and morose, hissing and showing teeth when she could. Hate was her constant companion, cold and deep. Its chilled tendrils caressed her whenever she thought of Mother, who was the cause of it all. Why hadn’t She tried to stop the hunters from taking her? Why had She abandoned Her Hive when they needed Her most? Hadn’t She’d known what would’ve happened to Sealink? Didn’t She care? It coiled around her whenever she saw Ra’ka, the Head Trainer. It gave her grim pleasure to see his mangled face, mangled by her teeth, ruined through her actions. Of course, she did not show any of this savage pleasure in Ra’ka’s presence; she had learned her lesson well. She hid it jealously, guarding it like some prized treasure.

But what she felt when she saw Dauncha was beyond hatred: it was cold, like hatred, but held none of the savageness she felt towards Ra’ka. It went deeper than that. She had no name for it. Sometimes she imagined scenarios where she threw the heart of Dauncha’s son at his face, but the part of her the beating hadn’t touched recoiled from the act of pure malevolence. She wanted him to suffer as she had suffered, to know what betrayal and hurt felt like, yet felt nothing towards him at all. Coldness proceeded.

Perhaps only light in her darkness came from the strangest of sources: Dauncha’s son, the yautja youngling. He apparently lived nearby Dauncha’s main dwelling, with his dam and the other females under Dauncha’s care. He would visit Sealink’s cell, and though he would never enter her side, he would throw her choice scraps of meat or bring ladles of water. Though she hardly spoke anymore, her tongue numb to stories of adventure and of the Hive, his youthful presence soothed her. Her previous comparison of him to Zizar made her latch onto him. To her, he was her last link to the world she had known. When he would be eventually gone—she didn’t know how long the youngling would stay—she would be anchorless, finally lost to the cold hatred seeping in her heart. Whether the youngling—‘pup,’ she had learned to be the correct terminology—noticed the change in her, he made no sign. His silences were longer now, his eyes more curious, but Sealink rarely gazed into them as she had so hungrily before. That Sealink was gone, beaten beneath the stick of the Predator.

A small noise drew her from her reverie faster than a shock of electricity. Sealink both tensed and relaxed, inside gathering herself to a live wire while outside slumping in a submissive position. Ra’ka. He was a hulking shadow in the pre-morning dark. Only the catch lights in his eyes gleamed, like two tiny pinpricks of light.

“Oo-kai’dhe,” he said, words a rough growl. Sealink slunk to his side in a moment, perfect in posture and demeanor. She saw him circle behind and nudge her rear with a clawed foot with enough force to jerk her forward. She didn’t react, just as she hadn’t reacted the hundred other times. A stick materialized out of nowhere and touched her beneath her eye. Again she did nothing, though she couldn’t hide the shudder which trembled her body. She heard him grunt, then move away. She recognized the grunt to mean ‘Come,’ or, ‘Follow.’

Sealink followed the huge yautja like a dog, gnawing on her hatred as a canine would a bone. It would be light soon; the tips of the tallest trees began to turn red from the sunrise. The air was warm, cool even, but the girl knew the respite was not long-lived. It would be sweltering before mid-morning.

Ra’ka led the girl outside, beyond the dwelling. Sealink recognized the lean build of Dauncha before she fully saw him. He was dressed in a light casual armor around his broad shoulders and chest. He wore his usual fishnet body mesh, black compared to his orange cast of his body. He wore his belt and metal loincloth along with leather wrist and ankle bands. She met his gaze coolly before dropping in the guise of perfect slave.

Ra’ka hurrumphed. “You want me to . . .?”

“No.” There was a pause. Sealink felt her captor’s gaze on her. “She can go unbound this time. If she disobeys . . .” A threat hung wordless in the air. Sealink understood perfectly.

The two hulking Predators began moving away, Sealink fast falling into step. It was still early, but soon she was sweating despite her light and scanty clothing. Her two masters made no sign of weariness. Deeper and deeper into the sprawling yautja settlement Sealink was led. Some of the coldness leached away as Sealink’s curiosity took the best of her. Her neck began to crane as she took in the sights. There were shops and buildings and training areas and yautja selling their wares, from weapons to drinks, all across the streets. The roads were hard-packed dirt, hardened by many years of use of the giant and heavy Predators.

Despite the earliness of the day, the air was thick with the musky scent of so many Predators present. If she was not already forced to bow her head in submission, she would have fled the scene because of the overpowering presence of all the hunters. There were at least a couple hundred there, most seven- to eight feet tall with a few six-footers. One yautja was so covered in battle scars and skull trophies the girl cowered instinctually with fear and hatred, crouching even lower to the ground as she padded quickly after Dauncha. Yautja slaves hurriedly ran about, fulfilling errands that their masters wanted them to accomplish.

Sealink felt herself hissing quietly to herself as she noticed out of the corner of her eye the equally curious and scornful glances the passersby’s gave her.

“ . . . sweet Paya, you look at that! . . .”

“ . . . ooman? Such an ugly-looking thing . . .”

“ . . . isn’t it supposed to be on a trophy wall? . . .”

“ . . . that's Dauncha, isn’t not? Why is he lugging that thing around? . . .”

If Dauncha or Ra’ka heard any of them, they made no sign of it. They seemed on a mission, traveling light and fast towards a destination known only to them. Sealink tried making herself a smaller target and followed them, knowing only the greatest of punishments awaited her if she became lost. Luckily, Dauncha began leading them towards a more secluded portion of the mini-city. The hustle and bustle soon died down and became faraway. The jungle sounds became louder, more real. Some exotic bird trilled, _yeek-yeek-yeeeeeeek,_ before falling into silence. Sealink spooked, baring her teeth in a silent grimace.

Soon Dauncha came to a stop. A massive metal complex stood in front of them. It was the largest building Sealink had yet seen, yet it gave off an air of misuse, or ruin. Cracks ran alongside the building’s side. Some host of vegetation was in the process of reclaiming part of the structure; its viney fingers gripped it in a strangle-hold. Strange echoing cries drifted from within. They sounded familiar enough to make her twitch.

Ra’ka went to Dauncha’s side. They exchanged low growls and clicks before Ra’ka entered the dwelling. Sealink waited, tense to the point of pain, eyes locked on Dauncha’s feet. She was close enough to smell his oily musk. His breathing was a bull’s, slow and deep. He was chattering quietly above her. The girl closed her eyes. Coldness wrapped around her. In the privacy of her mind she saw Dauncha dead, limbs twisted in unnatural angles, eyes wide and blank with death, blood spilling from the fatal wound she had caused—

“Dauncha, my old friend!”

Sealink tensed and shifted as a new voice, thick and gravely, emerged from within the doorway. Within moments a new yautja appeared.

The girl observed him in the sheer moments she had with her head raised. This yautja was old, older than any she had yet seen. His dreadlocks were the colour of gunmetal, his skin a mixture of washed-out green and pale tan. His four mandibles were intact, the claw-tips longer and more curved than either of the other two younger males. He wore the most clothing out of all of them, a type of gray wrap which allowed his four limbs much freedom. When he approached, she noticed he was slightly taller than Dauncha, but nowhere near the height of Ra’ka. His eyes were the colour of peeled grapes.

Then her eyes snapped back to the ground. She saw her hands were curled in fists, their knuckles white. She forced herself to relax, breathing in deep, letting it out slowly.

“Come, come, what’s this Ra’ka’s been telling me about?”

“You heard correctly,” Dauncha said, voice sonorous. He stepped aside. Sealink got a view of the old yautja’s toes.

A swift chattering overtook the old yautja. A staff appeared. Sealink forced herself to go limp and unresponsive as her head was prodded left then right. The staff retreated. A low disappointed clicking rattled in the grey chest.

“It’s not completely broken, is it?” the old one said.

A snort. “Watch, Te-kn’ha,” Dauncha said. Without warning Sealink had her head jerked back, exposing her face. The old Predator flared his mandibles, the clicking, _kurr_ ’ing laughter harsh in Sealink’s ears. His grey eyes were cruel, flashing as he leaned back. He was still chuckling when he said,

“Your handiwork, Ra’ka?” After the rough grunt of affirmation, Te-kn’ha said, “After what it did to you, I’m surprised you left it in one piece. Ha, ha! Took a bite out of you and everything!”

Ra’ka flared his mangled face slowly. Sealink felt his burning gaze on her and ducked her head. She could feel the phantom blows rack her body. Coldness surged within her.

Te-kn’ha laughed again in the hunter’s clicking roar. “Look at that contained hatred! That must’ve been one fuck of a beating. What a masterpiece, Ra’ka. I say, the best fighters come from you.”

Sealink perked, but made herself subside. When Te-kn’ha returned with his prodding staff, the girl bore it with ill but subdued grace.

“A pyode amedhe living amidst kainde amedhe . . . unheard of, truly. You say it can communicate with them? Interesting . . . and it can speak our tongue?”

“Roughly, but yes,” Dauncha said. “I found it while scouting a tiny kainde amedhe Hive on one of the worlds.”

The staff retreated once again. There was a pause. “You still want to go through with this? If it is as valuable as you say it is—”

“I did not say it was ‘valuable,’” Dauncha said, tone light, “I said it was rare. Its ‘value,’ as you so put it, old friend, comes from its abilities. Which, if I may point out, are next to useless without the proper . . . environment.”

Sealink saw Te-kn’ha give Dauncha a jaundiced eye before Ra’ka tapped her with his foot. It was a gentle movement, hardly more than a caress, but the girl ducked her head faster than a striking weasel.

The pause was heavier this time. Te-kn’ha shifted, mandibles clacking and flaring in nervous twitches. Then:

“Alright, alright. It’s your slave; what do I care what you do with it? Come on, then. Follow me. I’ll see what I have.”

Sealink was prodded into motion as the Dauncha began following the older yautja into the complex. The girl threw one last look at the strengthening sunlight before entering the cool, stifling darkness of the interior. Within moments she couldn’t see. She blinked, groping blindly, hearing the two Predators disappear further and further down the long corridor. Before she could panic— _Damn! I’ll be beaten again!_ —a chuttering growl issued by her ear. She spat a hiss of surprise and was cuffed in the dark. She fell, hitting her cheek against the cool stone of the floor. Then she was lifted into the air by the back of her neck. The position was so familiar Sealink went instantly limp. She struggled not to panic. She felt herself be brought before something hot and dank: _The yautja’s mouth,_ she thought.

“Go on. Bite. Bite if you dare.” The clicking was low and soft. Sealink trembled, remembering the hideous sensation of being beaten. Her breaths were fluttery and light. She was brought closer. She twitched when a long claw of a mandible stroked her cheek. She still couldn’t see.

“No?”

Sealink shook her head as much as the hand around her neck would allow.

The yautja’s hot breath left her face and Sealink was suddenly slung over a shoulder. Her belly and thighs instantly became warm as the almost-hot skin of the Predator made contact with her own. Before she could begin squirming her world began to sway as the yautja began walking. She closed her eyes and made herself relax into the stride. The darkness seemed endless, without even the dull redness the yautja ship had possessed. Ra’ka’s claws clicked on the stone floor as he trudged, clearly without the trouble Sealink’s human eyes had with the dark.

 

.s.

 

Sealink was dropped to the floor in a tangle of limbs. Clicking of laughter flicked out.

“Got lost?” It was Dauncha, tone light. Sealink flinched at it.

“Forgot how bad an ooman’s vision is in the dark,” Ra’ka replied. His clawed toe nudged Sealink’s back. “Guess same goes for Oo-kia’dhe.”

“Lacking in abilities?” Te-kn’ha said.

“Only in some,” Dauncha said, mandibles lazy.

The older yautja made a brief _kurr_ ing sound. “Let’s get on with this.” Sealink felt the attention of all three yautja turn to her. She kept her face averted before strong, reptilian fingers gripped her chin and forced her to look up. Dauncha was staring at her, yellow eyes stone. Sealink glared, letting the mask fall away. The mandibles flared, then subsided. The teeth gleamed.

“You’re right,” he said softly. “What hatred is in this creature.”

Somewhere above, Te-kn’ha snorted. “Must come from its ooman nature. Their kind is always filled with some sort of hatred. All hate and no honor makes for very dull prey.”

Dauncha gave a snort of his own before releasing the girl’s chin. He stood, orange stripes dark in the dull light. Sealink rubbed the place where he had held her. At a rumbled word from Ra’ka, the girl followed her captor deeper within the bowels of the complex. She was led into a massive arena, one larger by far than the one in Dauncha's dwelling. It was shaped in a rough oval, with metal doors located at regular intervals throughout the encircling walls. The ceiling was made of the same glass material as her cell, thick and impenetrable. Sunlight beamed down, bathing the sandy arena in a warm, orangeish hue. Sealink craned her neck to see all around her. Before she knew what she was doing she stepped out onto the orange-dyed sand. It crunched under her bare callused feet. Her toes curled at the tickling sensations.

It was then the girl realized she was alone. She whirled around, dropping into a fighting crouch. She leapt back with a snarling hiss when a spear—long, dark, deadly—sunk into the sand next to her. She looked up and saw all three Predators on a level above her. Te-kn’ha was chatting away, mandibles flaring and twitching as if in convulsions. Ra’ka was conversing with him. Only Dauncha was looking at her, face still, eyes gleaming from deep within their sunken sockets. Sealink straightened and gave him her coldest stare. The yautja cocked his head, the movement oddly birdlike.

Sealink heard the whisper of long fingers on the sand before she saw the Xenomorph. She turned slowly, without making any sudden movements. The Xenomorph— _Drone, small, unusual,_ her mind told her—was crawling from one of the open metal doors, motions slow and quivering with tension. _He’s stalking_ , her mind said again. She blinked. _He’s stalking me._ She frowned, the truth slapping her. _They want me to kill it!_ For a moment, all she could do was stand there, beyond furious, beyond outraged. Then the coldness, so new to Sealink, seeped in. It stole away the righteous anger and made her calm, clinical. _Want me to kill? Fine. I’ll become a killer._ She eyed the drone with her new vision and saw his chitin was flaky and gray. His knife-tail was dull. Sealink made herself relax, rolling her head as she backed up. Without taking her eyes from the drone, she pulled the spear from out of the sand. It was heavy in her hand, unwieldy; it took a moment for her hands to find comfortable places on it. She hefted it and held it as she crouched. The drone’s lips peeled back from silvery teeth, saliva dribbling onto the sand below.

“Not so big and tough, are you?” Sealink asked softly. The drone paused. The black dome of the head turned one way, then the other, as if searching. He drew closer. A hiss was building in his skeletal chest. He tensed, dropped down.

Sealink was already heaving the spear when the drone leapt. She didn’t bother throwing it; she had little or no training with the weapon. But she had recognized the leaping stance of the drone before he had jumped, and with the instinctive move of a fighter, she thrust the spear up like a javelin.

A scream tore through the air as the spear’s tip crunched through the drone’s exoskeleton and appeared on the other side, already disintegrating in a gooey mess. Sealink jumped clear of the dying creature’s flailing limbs, ducking from the whistling knifetail. She backed away quickly, face flushed, hands cold, body tense, eye keen for one last dying charge. But there was none coming. The drone listed from side to side, striking at random in blind, sweeping motions, each safely away from the girl, spitting like a teakettle. At last the Xenomorph fell to his side and didn’t get up.

Sealink watched everything with a cold heart. When she was sure the drone was finally dead she walked over to his side and, avoiding the spreading circle of corrosive blood, turned and looked up. The three yautja stood on the balcony, their ugly crab-human faces in varying states of intrigue. Ra’ka was impassive; his eyes were cool, stance a soldier’s. Te-kn’ha’s peeled-grape eye were wide, mandibles quivering. But it was the heated gaze of her captor which had Sealink’s hackles raised: They were ablaze. The girl hid her flinch, wishing for Dauncha’s typical cool indifference and lazy pride.

 _My fate is tied to the Xenomorph’s_ , she thought. She wasn’t stupid to think otherwise. Whatever her master had in store for her, it involved the kainde amedhe, and a lot of killing. Whatever it was, the girl knew it bode ill for her.

 

.s.

 

Dauncha was quiet the entire trip back from Te-kn’ha’s arena. Ra’ka was quiet as his superior. Sealink herself didn’t volunteer any questions, despite the ravenous desire to know what the orange Predator had in store for her. She hated the unknowing, and the unable to know. Sealink toyed with the idea of an outburst, daydreaming a scenario of her demanding answers, but the ominous threat of a beating curbed her short-lived rebellion. _It’s the fight,_ she thought. _It’s got me all hyped-up._ She tried not to think of the drone dead by her hands. Already the memory him was fading, becoming one of the countless hurts the Predators caused her.

Ra’ka left as soon as the trio neared Dauncha’s dwelling; they exchanged a few grunts, none of which Sealink caught, then he thumped his chest and was gone. Sealink tensed, every sense keyed for some movement from her master. She hadn’t forgotten the earlier brazenness she had flashed he and the other Predators; she cringed, already feeling the blows.

By the time Dauncha turned around the girl nearly on her belly, a hissing spitting from her snarling mouth. The Predator became as still as only a yautja could: It was a hunter’s stillness, both tense and relaxed. Even the ever-moving mandibles were quiet as the yautja gazed down at the girl. Sealink met his eyes with a terrified thrust of her chin, certain of punishment, yet unwilling to die without a fight.

At long last, the yautja said, “There is great hate in you. Good. Hate me. Hate your miserable life. Hate the crowds that will jeer for your death. Nurture it. Keep it close to what you call a heart. Let it turn you into the fiercest killer the yautja have ever seen.” The gleam was back in the yautja’s expression.

A sudden impulse struck Sealink, so demanding she blurted, “And hope?” She instantly cringed, but Dauncha only chuckled, the clicking _kurr_ vibrating in his throat.

“Ah, so you remember, eh? I’m impressed. Yes, I did say that to you, so you would not lose your spirit. Now you have a choice, my little prize: live for hate, or for hope. What you decide will dictate your nature.” Then Dauncha leaned back, teeth clicking. “But who am I kidding. You are an ooman kainde amedhe, I am yautja. You will wait for a chance to kill me, while I will beat you within an inch of your life. Nothing will change it now.”

Sealink glared at the yautja, the coldness turning hot. She could feel her cheeks heat with it. Then her mind said, _What does it matter if Dauncha betrayed you? You were foolish enough to trust him, or any yautja for that matter. Do you think you’ll ever get him to feel guilty for what he’s done? All you should think about is whether or not you will be beaten._ Sealink dipped her head, letting her hair hide her face from the yautja’s shrewd eyes. Yes, she decided, she was a fool. These hunters were without remorse, without compassion. They only understood power and violence. _One day,_ she thought, her heart hard, _I’ll make you feel as I did._

As if sensing her internal vow, Dauncha’s cool voice settled on her like a weight. “Should you ever need a reminder in who is in control, my Oo-kia’dhe, I will be more than happy of oblige.”

Sealink knew better than to ignore the obvious threat lingering on the smooth tones. She also knew she had no idea how she would exact her revenge, but one day, the opportunity would present itself. One day Dauncha’s back would be turned, the dagger would be in her grasp, and then . . .

When the yautja jerked his dreadlocked head towards his dwelling, Sealink slunk in, coldness a stone in her chest, all thoughts of Damon and the Hive dim and far away.

 

.

PART VIII

.

 

Sealink paced from one end of her enclosure to the other side, not stopping when she got to the other side but already moving, her footsteps a steady patter. Her legs and feet ached. She had tried keeping track of the passage of time, but it was almost impossible in the dimness of the enclosure. She hadn’t been allowed out since the fight with the drone. Not even the baby yautja came to visit her. Was this some sort of new hellish punishment? Sealink paced, snarling. She knocked over her water dish, regretted it, tried to fix it, only to find all of her water puddling away. With a strangled growl the girl threw the dish to the other side of the room, where it broke with a tinkling crash. “ _Shit_ ,” she said. She pulled her hair back until it hurt. She collapsed down hard on her butt. “Shit.”

Sealink was on her feet and hissing the moment she heard a yautja move behind her. It was Ra’ka, his mangled face leering in the dim half-light. The girl instantly quieted. She watched the Predator tensely. The yautja snorted, flicking one of his remaining functioning mandibles at her.

“Nice,” he said.

Sealink said nothing. She kept eying the yautja’s empty clawed hands. The yautja snorted again, a gravely sound deep within the scarred chest. Then he grunted a beckon, and Sealink found herself moving after the hulking Predator with ill grace. Her every nerve hummed as she left her prison; she fidgeted and sidled as if a high-strung horse. She flinched when Ra’ka rattled in annoyance but kept twitching and itching as she followed after the yautja into the training area of Dauncha’s dwelling.

Sealink hissed in pain when the suns’ glare hit her eyes; she threw an arm up and screwed her eyes shut. Corkscrews of glassy agony shot behind her lids as she took a moment to orient herself. Heat bloomed over her skin. Sweat broke out over her brow. When Sealink was tossed in the sand from a swift clout, her eyes still shut. A roaring, clicking laughter hit her ears.

“Would you look at that! Poor Oo-kai’dhe forgot what the suns feel like!”

Eye watering, Sealink opened them in thin squints. Ra’ka was a blurry shape to her left. She got up slowly, blinking hard, sand falling off her sweating body. Ra’ka’s shape solidified in front of her. Without fail her gaze landed on the mutilated webbing of mandible and fangs and a heated thrill passed through her. At his ominous growl, Sealink crouched, gaze still unerringly on the yautja’s.

Ra’ka grunted. “It’s getting uppity again, Dauncha,” he said to the unseen superior, voice loud and bored. His eyes were heated stones. “I think a lesson is in order.”

Sealink’s stomach cramped and her bowels loosened in fear. She was about to snarl when Dauncha stepped into view, his oiled dreadlocks gleaming wet snakes in the intense sunlight. The orange bands of his pebbly, reptilian skin rippled. He, like Ra’ka, was without a mask, his lipless, fanged mouth opening and closing behind twitching mandibles. His predatory, humanesque eyes regarded Sealink with something like pride. Or possession.

“No,” Dauncha said quietly. “Her behavior is exactly as I want it. The confinement worked perfectly.”

Sealink shivered under the quiet, relentless gaze and looked away. Revenge seemed so unattainable when she somehow kept playing right into Dauncha’s hands. _I’ll get him, I’ll get him,_ she promised herself, but even to her the vow seemed strained, as if stretched over too much distance. The yautja were always one step in front of her, one move beyond. They had already demonstrated how easily they could make her life hell, or how they could crush her skull if they wanted. How could she possibly hurt them more than they had hurt her? She would have to strike at their very core, but how?

The instant Sealink looked up she saw the baby Predator. He was standing behind Dauncha’s legs, hovering on the edge of the sandy arena. The shade of the interior building kept most of his features vague from the girl, but she didn’t need perfect vision to know the pup’s attention was riveted on her. They had interacted, but never without protective glass walls or metal grates. In all of her time upon the yautja homeworld, this was the first time she saw the pup outside. _Come to watch the spectacle, no doubt,_ the girl thought.

Sealink felt Dauncha’s gaze on her cool and grow chilled. She quickly averted her eyes, cursing herself. When she heard the yautja come to her, she willed herself to become limp and passive, no matter how loudly her instincts screamed _dangerdangerdanger._ The Predator sat on his haunches in front of her, his shadow casting over her, then went quiet and still. The stomach cramps were back, but Sealink dared not move. The slightly bitter odor of his musk filled the space between them. Cold sweat dripped in Sealink’s eyes, but she didn’t dare wipe it away. One of Dauncha’s mandibles brushed by the shell of her ear.

“You have no doubt thought about using my _son_ —” and here he handled the word delicately, as if balancing a razor’s edge “—as revenge for what I’ve done to you. Make no mistake, my little Oo-kia’dhe: I can have many sons, but you have only one life. What I could do would make you beg for death. Remember that.”

And then Dauncha was gone, leaving Sealink sweating and shivering. She shook her head in a tiny jerk, and tried to ignore the smug way Ra’ka clicked his fanged maw.

 

.s.

 

The suns were directly overhead, beating down with ferocious intensity, when the yautja came for Sealink. They were three of them, all tall and hulking and reeking of musk; one of them was the red yautja from the original hunting party which captured her. Sealink bristled from where she crouched on the edge of Dauncha’s arena. She watched them approach with tense eyes, her body as wary as a wolfdog’s. When the leader of the three came within striking distance—the red yautja from before—they stopped.

“Your hands,” the red yautja said, voice a clicking rattle. A sinewy cord rested in his own red claws. Behind him, a yautja held a dark cloth. It looked like some sort of bag. Sealink had only a moment to eye each of these things before the third yautja stepped up. The girl curled her lip at the black stick.

The red yautja nodded. “So you recognize this,” he said dryly. “No trouble, then. Your hands.”

Sealink let them bind her. She didn’t struggle when her world went dark as the cloth bag slipped over her head. Instantly her breathing became loud in her ears. It became stifling. She felt the tug on her wrists and began to walk blindly. She couldn’t see anything in the darkness, but she closed her eyes and let it become part of her. _I am a Xenomorph,_ she thought, _in a human body. I don’t need my eyes._ Though nowhere near as graceful as her kin, Sealink allowed her other senses to take over. Her sightless head twitched to every sound. The yautjas’ footfalls were thunder in her ears. The bottoms of her feet felt every stone and pebble. After a few moments a rhythm took over; though sightless, her muscles relaxed. The heavy weight of tension, so long on her shoulders, lightened.

The heat on her skin told her she was outside. She could hear lots of rumbles and clicking beyond the dimness of her bag. She began sweating in earnest within the hot, stifling confines, but there was little time to complain. She was nearly trotting to keep up with the yautja pulling her cord. Then the suns’ heat cooled, and Sealink was indoors.

By the time the yautja stopped, Sealink was breathing hard. Sweat dripped in her eyes and stung. Her mouth was sandpaper, aching for water. Licking the sweat off her lips did little good. When the bag was finally taken off, she couldn’t resist the croon of relief. A metal cup of warm water was shoved in her direction, which she took with ravenous thirst. The faint rotten-egg taste was almost delicious. It was then Sealink took stock of her surroundings. It appeared she was in some sort metal corridor, long and winding, dim and red-lit. It smelled faintly of mold, musk, and metal. It reminded her of the inside of the yautja’s ship. There was a door in front of her, an ugly metal thing. Muted noises roared beyond it. Thin streams of dusty sand rained down whenever a loud wave of roaring passed. Sealink snorted as a stream of sand fell into her hair.

Something grunted behind her.

Sealink spun around. Ra’ka peered down at her from his considerable height, the red dimness giving him a demonic, leering appearance. Sealink took an instinctive step back. Ra’ka _kurr_ ’d, head cocking. The silence stretched. The girl looked away, pretending to observe the metal door in front of her. Beyond it, there were faint sounds of cheering, and roaring.

The sound of a swift, indrawn breath had her turning again to Ra’ka. The Predator’s yellow eyes were closed. “Can you feel it, little thing?” he said. His voice was rougher than usual. Sealink didn’t like it.

“Feel what?” she said. She sensed she had given the wrong answer when Ra’ka reopened his eyes and regarded her coolly.

“Don’t think I’ll ever see what he sees in you,” the scarred yautja said, as if to himself. He leaned in closer and the girl could almost smell his sour breath. Sealink clicked her teeth as he continued to stare at her. He snorted. “But what do I know. Here.” He tossed a bundle at her. It landed in a metallic clatter at her feet. “Put those on.”

Sealink frowned. “What is it?” she said.

Ra’ka rumbled. “Open it up, tetch-na.”

Sealink did as she was told, gingerly untying the knot and opening the sack. She grimaced at the oily sensation on her fingers as she pulled up—armor? She dug in deeper and pulled up shin guards, wrist guards, some type of shoulder pads, and a weird little silver thing, each of them small enough to fit her. She stared at them, frozen.

“You know how to put them on, right?”

Sealink shook her head, throat tight. A huffing noise came from Ra’ka that drowned out the muted murmur beyond the door. A moment later he was by her side; she was close enough to feel his body heat against her bare skin. With hot, scarred hands he took her and began to roughly attach the wrist and shin pads with deft, practiced movements. When he shifted to put on the shoulder pads, Sealink hissed.

“Not that,” she said.

The yautja grunted, shrugged, then clicked his two remaining free-floating mandibles. “Going for speed, then. Suits you, I suppose.” He began to get up, grasping at the bag. “You’ll need it.”

Sealink frowned, but didn’t ask what he meant, because she knew, deep down, what was waiting for her beyond the metal door. When he gave her the little silver thing, which turned out to be an extendable spearhead, she felt neither horror or confusion. The coldness, now so close to her heart, cooled her focus to an icy clarity. _You always knew this would happen,_ her clinical part of her thought when the metal door opened. A blast of heat and oily, hot musk struck her. Stomps and guttural roars filled her ear. _Ever since that fight with the drone, you knew your fate would be tied with the Xenomorph. Dauncha wants me to be a killer because that’s all this foul culture knows. You have to kill to survive._ Something inside of her hitched. She shoved it deep down. _Killing’s easy,_ she thought. _Don’t think about it._ Then she was pushed through.

 

.s.

 

Sealink narrowed her eyes against the late afternoon sun as she walked out, sweat streaming down her skin in the hot and muggy air of the homeworld. She knew it was an arena; it was exactly as the old Predator’s. It had the same oval shape and sandy surface, except this sand was stained with greens and reds and blues, pockmarked and gritty. There were carcasses and bones littered about. There was a ring of stands above the lower arena, just as in Te-kn’ha’s arena. The air was thick with the oily musk of aggression and energy from yautja filling the stands, dressed in nothing but their metal loincloths and fish net body mesh, their mouths wide and red. Their eyes blazed with bloodlust, their mingled roars and howls rose when she stepped out. Sealink regarded them briefly, eyes skimming over the howling mass. Once she thought she caught sight of Dauncha, aloof and still compared to his brethren. A moment passed, captor and captive staring at each other. Then the moment was gone as Sealink snapped her attention away. There would be no help from him; what she was about to do was for her own skin.

To the far end of the arena a Xenomorph, a drone by the size, was muzzle-deep in the entrails of his latest victim. It had been an old yautja, someone’s slave no doubt, too old to be useful. Sealink watched as the sand soaked up the green blood. She tightened her grip on her spearhead.

The drone snapped his head up, his sightless head unerringly finding her. His bloody lips peeled back from even fangs. Sealink regarded him coolly, eyes following the black form, noting the sinuous limbs and curling tail. Some part of her, the one still yearning for self-pity, wanted to identify herself with him: both taken from their native home, both prisoners, both pitted against each for the yautja’s bloodthirsty sport. It would be deceptively easy to lay down her weapons and attempt to connect with a fellow slave, but she knew the drone would kill her if he could. She pushed the tide of homesickness down, forcing herself to overlook how familiar the black form was. _He’s not my friend,_ she thoughtas the Xenomorph left the yautja carcass and came for her _. My family is gone, far away. They are as good as dead._

The air vibrated with the yautjas’ roars as Sealink thrust her spear. The Xenomorph screeched. Sealink rolled to avoid a whipping blow. When she staggered to her feet she grimaced at the long line of sizzling pain across her thigh. Sweat dripped down her face as she looked up. The drone spat at her, sporting a gleaming white scratch-mark of his own. Girl and Xenomorph began to circle. The roars and hoots were louder now, a cascading wave of noise, but Sealink grimly blocked it out. Her entire focus was on the dripping jaws of her enemy, the tenseness of his walk, the tell-tale sign of a leap.

She was back in the forest of her real home. She was mock-sparring with Kaylon, with Damon watching lazily on the side. She could see the move before Kaylon made it, his body betraying him whenever he was preparing to leap. Her eyes fastened to the double-jointed fingers as they dug into the grass, to the shift in weight, to the curl of the tail. Then the actual leap, but Sealink would no longer be there: she was darting past, having seen the escape long before the jump. Her stick slapped Kaylon on the shoulder, signaling her win. Happiness. Contentment.

Sealink screamed into the red sky. Something was screeching. Her spearhead thrust again, jarring against the slick chitin armor. Claws raked her face. Warm blood—a human’s, red—splattered to the thirsty sand. A knife cut, a slash. More blood, except this time it hissed when it hit the sand. Noxious steam rose from the hole it made. Sealink leapt back to avoid being disemboweled, staggering when her footing slid in the gritty sand. Her thigh throbbed. Her breathing came out in pants. Just when she was beginning to think the drone would win on sheer endurance, the Xenomorph _scree_ ’d, rearing up on his hind legs, towering in a rage of black muscle. The move was infamous. The first time Sealink had seen it she had cowered in fear, terrified of the sudden transformation of her friend to raging demon. Only afterwards did Sealink realize it was the drone’s strongest and weakest move, for though it could intimidate, it allowed a small-enough enemy to dart through and pierce its underbelly.

There was no thought. Gritting her teeth, Sealink dug in and raced for all her worth towards the drone. She had no conscious feeling of the spearhead in her hand, only that it was part of her arm when she struck upward. Something hard and cool mashed against her cheek and she was falling backwards, corkscrews of pain exploding behind her eyes. The universe tumbled. Darkness overtook her.

It was hard to breathe. There was a faint rumble in the distance, as if a storm was brewing on the horizon. The girl tried to shake her head, only to find something hard pinning her down. The girl began to struggle, fighting to subdue the rising tide of panic, but when she met resistance moving her arms and legs, Sealink began to screech. She kicked and bit. She started wiggling, desperate to get away from the constrictive trap. With a grunt she used her knees to shove herself backward. The gritty sand scratched her back. She pushed harder, alternating between wiggling and shoving. A sliver of light entered her vision. Sealink mewled with relief as the creak of light grew bigger and bigger. With a heaving snarl, the girl at last crawled her way out from under the Xenomorph carcass.

The roar which greeted her shook her bones and drowned out all other sounds. Sealink stood blinking in the afternoon sunlight, swaying. Her body ached. Blood covered her in tacky sheets. Her muscles felt like rubber left in the sun. But her body vibrated from the din from the stomping yautja, and when she turned to the crowd, she saw Dauncha, his eyes hooded, his mandibles lazily floating in the air.

 

.s.

 

Hardly a few moments had passed since the death of the drone when Ra’ka emerged from the same doorway Sealink had walked through minutes before. His broken face was expressionless. She was by his side before she realized she had walked; she blinked, trying to focus on him. Ra’ka clicked, eyes like stone in the sunken sockets. When he bound her hands in the sinewy wire, she didn’t complain. Her body felt like meat, her mind in fog. She watched herself be led back into the quiet of the corridor, then back onto the streets of the yautja settlement. There was no bag on her head this time, but Sealink couldn’t drag up the curiosity to look around her. She plodded behind Ra’ka’s immense scarred bulk, feeling for all the world lost on a sea of dull sensations.

She and the Predator arrived to Dauncha’s dwelling in what felt like moments. She stared at the symbols along the door marking the yautja’s claim to the home when Ra’ka grunted and kept walking. She was led into a room she had never gone in before: it was dim and warm, with med kits and other strange devices along the walls and counters. There was a row of three slab-like ‘tables.’ The floor was metal grating, as on the ship. Sealink tried to shake herself out of her exhausted stupor. Her muscles and body groaned at her with a vengeance, seeking solace in the dull, throbbing waves of pain. Her cut on her thigh was long and deep.

She hissed when the yautja began removing her wrist and shin guards. One look her way stilled her complaints, but she couldn’t help but bare her teeth as one of his claws made contact with the cut along her thigh. She pulled away. Ra’ka clicked his _kurr_ ing laughter.

“A weakling when it comes to pain, eh? Surprised I haven’t beaten it out of you yet.” Ra’ka reached again, more insistent this time, his hot, pebbly grip like iron. Sealink submitted will ill grace until Ra’ka cuffed her. The blow was enough to smash her face on the edge of one of the ‘tables.’ Blood flooded in her mouth, coppery and tangy. Pain rang like a bell, high and clear. She clapped a hand to her mouth.

“Still spirited, isn’t she?” a new voice said.

Sealink looked up from the floor to see Dauncha standing in the entranceway, elegant claw-tipped mandibles slow, posture both poised and languorous. He flicked one of his mandibles her way when he noticed her watching him.

Ra’ka grunted. “Like I said: uppity.”

Dauncha hummed in reply, considered Sealink for a moment, then pulled out the black stick from where it had hid behind his back. The girl instantly shrunk low, body tensing. Dauncha chuckled in the clicking rattle. His dreadlocks gleamed in the low warm light as he stepped fully in the room.

“You see, my old friend,” Dauncha said, cadence nonchalant, “the true lesson hasn’t been forgotten.” He put the stick away, gently letting it rest on the wall. Sealink eyes tracked Dauncha's movements as he moved to one of the kits littering the room. “Merely, one must remember the state of the creature before us.” He began to pull out several containers of blue gel and a needle-looking thing.

Ra’ka snorted. “You’re in a good mood. How much did you win?”

The orange-cast yautja opened one container of the blue gel and squirted it on a miniature slab. Sealink bristled with apprehension. “A nice sum, enough to fund a small hunting trip. I expect more in the future, of course, once the word spreads,” Dauncha said.

“If it survives that long,” Ra’ka said.

Dauncha paused, elongated profile to Sealink’s view. The mandibles were still. “Yes,” he said at last, quietly. “If itsurvives that long.” He turned back to the kit in front of him. “Of course,” Dauncha continued, tone resuming its normal cadence, “you’re right. We can’t allow disobedience to take root, and I am glad you remain on top of things. I am glad for your experience and advice, Ra’ka.”

From Sealink’s angle she could see Ra’ka’s chest puff and a satisfied gleam enter his eyes. It was all she could do not to curl her bruised lip.

Then Dauncha turned to her. In his hands were the slab of blue gel.

Sealink shrunk back towards the wall. “What is?” she asked.

The yautja rattled in his throat, his eyes narrowed slightly at the question. “Medicine for your wounds,” he said. He took a step closer.

Sealink had heard from Mother about yautja conducting experiments on Xenomorphs, using their strange _gels_ and _liquids_ to inject into innocent creatures and turning them into something else. She bared her teeth and snarled. “Don’t want. Me fine.”

Dauncha became still. Ra’ka leaned against the wall, rumbling laughter.

“I told you it was skittish,” Ra’ka said. “Need help?”

Dauncha didn’t answer. He stepped closer, dipping his fingers in the blue gel. Then he rushed forward. Before she knew it, the Predator had restrained her to the wall, using his body as a barrier, holding her fast. His meaty, reptilian arm pressed up against her throat. The air became hot. The yautja’s sour breath fanned her face. She could hear him respire, his breath bubbling somewhere deep in his throat. Sealink gnashed her teeth, wriggling, trying to bite, trying to escape, anything to break free from the constrictive hold. After a moment the pressure on her throat gently but ruthlessly increased, cutting her air. She began to yelp in earnest, screeching pleads. Somewhere, Ra’ka was roaring laughter. All Sealink could do was watched helplessly as the blue gel on Dauncha’s fingers touched her open wound.

It was as if putting fire on skin. Agony exploded behind her lids. Sealink screamed, wailing. Then as sudden as the pain appeared, the terrible throbbing subsided, leaving a cool, painless feeling afterward. The stabbing, aching pain of her wound eased into nothingness. Shocked, the girl tried to look over the arm down at her thigh. A strip of blue gel covered the cut.

The arm withdrew. Dauncha retreated, taking the slab away, placing on the table. Sealink ignored him, probing at the gel on her skin. It had a slight give, but held. If she closed her eyes, it was as if nothing was there. She tried to sniff it. It was odorless.

Sealink was then forced to strip. She stood unabashed without clothes, letting Dauncha wash and treat her other cuts and bruises. The blue gel returned for a head-wound. Sealink hissed, flinching, but didn’t scream. When at last Dauncha stepped back and grunted, the girl was clean for the first time in days and without pain. Her leg never twinged once. With the absence of pain came the fog from before. The haze of exhaustion and surrealism carried Sealink as she watched herself be led back to her enclosure. She noticed new food had been laid out, along with a new, metal water dish. Ra’ka removed her bindings. The door closed, and she was alone.

She stood in the centre of the room, not moving. Then, as if in a dream, Sealink slowly eased back on her bedding, eyes staring at the plain ceiling above.

Sleep, when it came, was filled with snarling red mouths and mountains of quivering black flesh.

 

.

PART IX

.

 

The drone became the first of many gladiator-esque fights. Sealink learned Dauncha had taken a risk with her, and she, a measly ooman, had come out on top. Though Sealink never saw the rewards the Predator received, it was enough to make his eyes gleam and mandibles lazy. The crowds which came to watch her battle Xenomorphs dwarfed the first one, sometimes howling ‘Oo-kai’dhe! Oo-kai’dhe!’. The outcry which poured down onto the sands when she survived rattled her bones.

Sealink never diluted herself. They had come to watch her die. She told herself that before entering the sandy pit, and afterward, when leaving the carcasses behind. The spectacle of watching a trained ooman fight a drone—or two at the same time—was more than enough of a reason to attend the arenas in which she fought. That realization hardened her heart to the point of numbness. She no longer viewed the Xenomorphs as shadows of her old home, but opponents she had to kill. Homesickness was a death thing in her chest. And when Sealink’s armor became the chitin taken from her fallen foes, she became flint inside. Once, a spatter of Xenomorph blood landed on her. Had it not been for the exoskeleton encasing her body area, the girl was sure it would have eaten through her flesh, meat, and bone.

Under the tutelage of the fights, Sealink learned a swiftness she had faintly imitated before. Her muscles became hard and toned. Her walk became the predatory stride of a fighter, fluid and taut. Her wariness and distrust never left her posture when it came to heal; though she no longer cringed at the blue gel, she never overcame her initial hesitation to the unknown. Her captors were cunning. They knew the art of battle well, and allowed Sealink a brief time of respite between every fight. Sometimes, when the rewards amassed enough, Dauncha would leave for days at a time and she would be granted a greater period of rest. On those occasions Sealink would pace in her cell, unable to sit still, nerves quivering for the next fight. She began to dream of the battles, replaying them over and over until she woke up, sweating. Every shadow hid an enemy.

The only constant in her darkening world was the child yautja. The more and more Dauncha left for his well-funded hunts, the more the pup would stay by her cage. The visits were at odd times; she almost never saw him in the day, or if she did, it would only be for snatches. He was bigger now, but still had the softness baby fat lends features. His stubby mandibles caught her eye, and somewhere, deep in the sheltered part of her hidden from current existence, she would remember Zizar, the little youngling of her own.

Sometimes Sealink would idly wonder if she should kill the pup, but remember Dauncha’s threat. It was more the fact her captor would have more sons than the death threat that deterred the girl from following through with murder. She would get no satisfaction from the pup’s death. It wouldn’t hurt Dauncha enough. By now, the dream of making her captor pay for kidnapping her and making her his slave were dim echoes. A fantasy now, nothing more. Any passion she had was now dedicated on survival, a survival growing grimmer and grimmer each day. How long would her good luck and skills last? Already her fights were growing harder and harder; growing bored of pitting her against only one drone, she now could count on battling two drones, or three at the same time. Once, she had to fight an actual praetorian. It had been the hardest battle of her life. She fought with everything she had, and in the end the praetorian’s death had been more of a fluke than a product of pure skill. She would die under a lucky Xenomorph’s blow; she was sure of it now. The cold hatred which had carried her for so long had become weary, stretched thin, hard like boiled leather.

 

.s.

 

“Get up.” It was Ra’ka.

Sealink did as she was told, and was roughly touched and prodded to make sure all of her wounds and bruises from the fight four days before had been healed. Grunting his satisfaction, he turned around and began to leave the room, pausing just enough to click, “C’mon _._ ”

The monotony of the routine blurred past Sealink as she followed behind the massive yautja. Though she was still blind-folded she could count the amount of steps required to the death pit. When they arrived, it was simple procedure to change into her Xenomorph armor and stand at the door. Ra’ka and she exchanged little words. Sealink quivered like a live wire, staring at the metal door in front of her, every crack and stain as familiar to her as a lover’s face. When the door opened she strode out, deaf to the roaring in the stands. She barely gave the yautja a glance; by now they were nothing but a hot, stinking background.

The moment she laid eyes on the three praetorians, the clamoring in her skull went quiet. She became still, curiously numb. Her head turned towards the stands to seek for a particular orange yautja. But there were only strangers. Sealink turned back to the Xenomorph warriors, all of whom have caught notice of her. They were all sleek and savage, their chitin gleaming blue highlights from the overhead suns. They bristled menace the average drone lacked, and Sealink instantly was brought back to her other fight with a praetorian.

This is it.

There was no anger, no fear, only a curious emptiness. As she gripped her spear, she felt weightless.

She met the first one with a bone-vibrating rattle. Her world became a blur of black chitin and sand, of heat and pain. Within moments one of the knife-tails jarred against one of her shin guards. Black, gnarled hands reached to claw her face off. Sealink ducked, only to meet another one’s jaws. Only weeks of constant battling allowed her to spin out of the way of the secondary maw’s trajectory. She reached with her spear and landed a blow; she jerked back to avoid a splatter of acidic blood. Something screeched.

A hot flash of pain corkscrewed behind her eyes as her back suddenly became fire. Sealink grimaced and whirled, only to have a head batter her down. She rolled to avoid being skewered. She looked up in time to see the largest of the three praetorians leap forward, and there was no avoiding the collision. It was as if a brick wall had smashed with her chest; she fell backwards, her flayed skin screaming as it made contact with the sand. Her head bounced up on impact. It took a moment for her world to reorient itself. She stared into the frozen grimace of the praetorian and saw death.

“Go on,” she said. Her eyes were dry, her thoughts empty. “Finish it.”

The praetorian stilled, and said, _Is that what you want me to do, Sealink?_

 

.s.

 

The sounds of the Predators faded into a gentle buzz in the background as Sealink stared into the face of her long-lost friend.

“Damon?” she said. She was already dead, and this was a dream. She blinked slowly, willing herself not to feel.

 _Sealink,_ the praetorian groaned, _Sealink._

The girl kept herself still as the Xenomorph lowered his silver maw to her neck. Somewhere, the background exploded with roaring, but all Sealink could hear was the cold, whistling breath so close to her face. Despite her resolve to pay attention, she found herself drifting away on memory. The sand was gone; there was grass. Sunlight filtered down from the trees in golden-white speckles. Damon crouched over her in a similar position, his eyeless head moving over her face slowly back and forth, back and forth. Memory-Sealink would reach up, and feel the naked tendons running along his jaw line. Present-Sealink did the same motion, and at the praetorian’s responding croon, she knew it could be no dream.

“Damon,” she said.

 _Can you fight with me?_ he asked.

For a moment Sealink sagged in the sand. All she wanted to do was sleep, or rest; she had fought for too long, too hard. Now with the amazing return of Damon, all would be well. Let someone else fight the battle. But the cold part of her, the part nurtured through the actions and treatment of the yautja, told her to rest now was to die, and now with Damon here, surrender was inconceivable. _Even if I die tomorrow,_ she thought, _I have to somehow make Dauncha suffer._

 _Sealink?_ Damon asked.

Sealink snapped back to herself. “I think I dropped my spear beneath you. Cover me when I get it.”

The Xenomorph bared his teeth in answer, and within moments lifted. Sealink rolled into motion, reaching for the spear lodged in the sand not two feet away. “Got it!” she said, and sprang to her feet. The other two praetorians had been waiting some distance away, but stiffened when they noticed the girl was alive and free. Damon hurled himself to meet them, springing like black-armored death, his form lithe and deadly, his great maws outstretched for a fatal bite. They met with a tremendous collision of bodies, and the furious _skree_ ing almost drowned out the absolute thunder of the spectator yautja. Sealink rushed forward, darting in between the straining legs and slashing wherever she could, avoiding the ones of her friend as she did. Using a move previously used on a drone, Sealink managed to mount one of the praetorians and, using her armor-encased arm and spear, slit his throat. Acidic blood splatted harmlessly off. She was bucked off. She rolled away and quickly found her feet. She was in time to see Damon shake free from a praetorian corpse.

She stared at him. He was bigger than she had remembered, or was that her imagination? Though she had tried, she had no way of keeping track of the passage of time. How long had she been trapped on the yautja homeworld? Long enough to make Damon massive, darksome, and sleek. Long enough for her to not recognize him, even when they had been close enough to kiss. _We’ve changed,_ she thought as she walked to him, her head coming up to his narrow chest. Damon glided towards her. Ignoring the fatal jaws, she wound both arms around the elongated dome of the head. As docile as a horse, Damon lowered his head and became still in the familiar embrace. He was hard and cold beneath her sweating arms, with the texture of dolphin’s skin.

It was quiet enough to hear birds squawking in the nearby jungle. Sealink buried her face in Damon’s chitin to avoid the burning stares coming from hundreds of yautja. Only when Damon began to growl deep within his chest did Sealink resurface. She turned around.

Dauncha stood a stone throw’s away. He was granite, mandibles still. Behind him were six other yautja, one of them being Ra’ka. The savage face was curiously blank.

Damon took a step nearer, lips writhing over silver teeth. Saliva roped from his open maw. Sealink put a hand on his neck. The praetorian halted. His breath came out like the heartbeat of a train, heavy and ponderous.

“No,” she said. She didn’t dare shake her head. “Not yet.”

_I will kill them._

Warmth rushed through her, a feeling so long-forgotten she had to squeeze her eyes shut. She squeezed Damon’s neck.

“I’ll find you,” she said, “I’ll find you and we’ll escape, even if it’s the last thing I do.” But somewhere within a part of her said, _I have to make Dauncha suffer._ That _is that last thing I’ll do._ Sealink shuddered the thought away, disturbed at its strength. She rubbed Damon’s carapace one last time and made a move towards the still-quiet yautja.

 _They have Queen Mèlintèlinas,_ Damon said. _I was taken with her here._ _I feel Her thoughts inside of me, Sealink. She is dying. Her thoughts are a jumble, no pattern, no ending._ Damon's voice was oddly colourless. _She is laying Her last eggs._

Sealink’s walking hitched, but she didn’t stop. Nor did she look back. She passed by Ra’ka and stopped in front of Dauncha. She met his gaze with an expressionless one of her own, her blood cold, her heart curiously quiet. Without a word the other yautja stepped in and Sealink was taken away, brought back inside the metal corridor. There were no words exchanged, not even when Sealink was escorted to Dauncha’s dwelling. It was Ra’ka, not Dauncha, who looked after her extensive wounds. Sealink watched herself be healed with a clinical eye, and when she was let back into her tiny room, she curled up in her bedding and laid there. It was only then did she acknowledge the awful truth that they had captured her Queen.

 

.s.

 

Sealink squinted her eyes against the glare of the sun on the sand. She laid like a dog in the cool shaded portion of Dauncha’s outdoor arena. The yautja pup was practicing his footwork, in his hand a miniature version of the spear Dauncha always carried. Sealink could see the pup already had the makings of a warrior, his moves uncompromising and sure. Time and experience would turn his baby fat into lean muscle, and his chubby countenance would give way to a sure killer’s. The girl watched the child, knowing one day he would one hunt and become a captor like his father. Or follow in his father’s footsteps. She narrowed her eyes. A thought came to her, fleeting, vague, then went away. She battered the mental play-toy aside with ill grace, deciding what did it matter. She had more important things to worry about, such as what to do with Damon, Mother, herself, and rescue. These thoughts she worried as a dog does a bone, gnawing on whatever she could.

It had been exactly a week since the astonishing triple-praetorian fight. She hadn’t been to the pits since, though she had caught glimpses of Ra’ka and Dauncha around the dwelling. Neither of them spoke to her, making it fall to Dauncha’s slaves to bring her food, water, fresh bedding. She was here on their behalf, as she had been with the other seven days.

The little yautja clearly made an erroneous move, judging by the volume which Ra’ka berated him. The pup hung his head, his stubby mandibles twitching, as the immense hulk took the knife and demonstrated the correct way. Ra’ka knelt down to the child’s side. Though too far to hear, Sealink knew they were having a conversation. Not for the first time, the girl’s thoughts strayed to Zizar, the youngling she had left behind. Over the past week, it had been as if a leak had sprung. Images she had once buried deep were now springing to the forefront of her mind. Yesterday, she thought of Kaylon. The day before, Damon. Faces she had committed to the sea were alive, not decaying but vibrant, demanding attention. Sleep was thin and restless, and every time she looked at the jungle, she had a terrible urge to run.

A loud grunt drew Sealink out of herself and back to the yautja. She saw the pup toddle away. Ra’ka straightened with a rattle, his two free-floating mandibles clicking. Sealink swallowed.

“Trainer?” she said.

Ra’ka turned a jaundiced eye on her. “What?”

Sealink crawled to a crouch and lowered her head. “The kainde amedhe from last fight . . . what happen to it?”

There was a long, ugly pause. Sealink didn’t dare raise her head. Then she heard an offhand snort. “Old Te-kn’ha probably has it somewhere.” Ra’ka leered, jaw clacking. “Why? It your lover or something? You fuck it?”

Sealink licked salty lips. “Friend,” she said. “Good friend.”

Ra’ka snorted. “Sure.” He turned to move.

“Wait!” she said, scuttling closer. The scarred yautja turned around slowly. He stared at her. Sealink twitched. “Me see friend?”

The yautja cocked his head, dreadlocks snaking over his shoulder. His eyes narrowed to slits beneath the heavy brows. Then he took a heavy step forward.

“You’re in the way,” he said, voice expressionless.

Sealink bit the inside of her cheek and quickly got out of the way. Sandaled feet crunched past her, and she was left staring at empty footprints. She heard the Predator bark for a slave to ‘take that thing back in its cage.’ A slave appeared, a male with broken mandibles, and she was led away. The moment she was in her enclosure she began pacing. She paced until her legs ached.

She was in mid-stride when she noticed Dauncha standing in front of her glass. Sealink stopped. This was the first time since the fight with Damon she was in the orange Predator’s presence. She stood tall.

The yautja clicked quietly. “Hello, my Oo-kai’dhe.”

Sealink jerked her head. “Daun-cha,” she said.

“My Head Trainer tells me you would like to see the kainde amedhe. The same one from your homeworld, if I am not mistaken.”

Her stomach was a tight cold knot. “Yes,” she said.

Dauncha cocked his head. “What will you do for me in return?”

Sealink blinked. “Return? Me not understand.”

“I will allow you to visit, but for a price. The Queen I have captured for breeding seems to be uncooperative, and I would like you to see—”

Sealink didn’t hear the rest of what Dauncha said. She felt she was in the bottom of a very long shaft, like a well. Something like water was condensing around her chest. She couldn’t draw breath.

“You . . . you promised—”

Dauncha’s mandibles stilled. “Promised?”

“Promised leave kainde amedhe, _me_ kainde amedhe, alone,” Sealink said. She wanted to sit down. When Dauncha chuckled, she flushed an ugly brick red.

“I never promised anything, Oo-kai’dhe.” The yellow eyes gleamed. “The terms were for me not to harm your precious _companion_ —” here the word twisted, “—at that precise moment in time. We did not discuss sparing the rest of the Hive.”

A dull pounding filled her ears. The coldness which had so long persisted now grew hot, as if a coal had lodged in her belly. She wanted to snarl, to pace, to scream; her body wanted to go in so many directions she stood frozen in place, her body vibrating with the urge for violence. Killing Dauncha’s son wasn’t enough anymore; she wanted to kill him, sink her teeth in the reptilian flesh of his neck and tear.

The yautja before her cocked his head again, the mandibles resuming their serene twitches and jerks. The exposed teeth ringing the human-esque mouth glinted. He leaned forward, his eyes chips of marble. “Want to see your companion, Oo-kai’dhe? You do this.”

 

.s.

 

The inner bowels of Te-kn’ha’s arena were dimly lit, deep with red shadows. It was cool, cooler than Sealink had yet to feel on the homeworld. There was a strong musty smell of cobwebs and mildew: the stink of neglect. But it was the undercurrent of alien breath and chitin which had the girl pawing at her nose. It was as if she was back at the forest, right by the Queen’s side. _Except I’m on the yautja homeworld,_ she thought, _and Mother is dying like a prize bug._

As if hearing her thoughts, Ra’ka rumbled up ahead, “Don’t know why Dauncha is bothering. It’s just about dead, anyway.”

Sealink bit her lip so hard it bled as she followed behind the Head Trainer deeper and deeper within the metallic intestines of Te’kn’ha’s arena. Her heart was a heavy thing in her chest, and the notion came to her that she had a chestbuster inside her, ready to burst through her ribs. And when Ra’ka stopped just outside a massive room, the pain doubled to a singular point. A sudden nervousness sprung within her. She swallowed hard, her nose filled with diseased breath.

“Well?” Ra’ka said. His mangled face twisted. “You going in or not?”

Sealink slipped inside. It was dark. The shadows were red and deep, like the inside of a heart. There was a single shaft of puny light shining down over the trapped Xenomorph Queen, casting most of Her in deep shadow. Chains the breadth of her forearm covered the black dragon, leaving nothing unbound. She laid on the ground, still and unmoving except for Her billowing sides. Somewhere was an abandoned egg sack, flaccid and grey with disuse. Miscarried eggs, too fragile or too malformed to carry life, littered the ground like poisoned gourds. Some of them were covered in a film of dust, others still stinking of rotting birth fluids.

For a long moment Sealink was frozen. Her ears were filled with the heavy, train-like breathing of the captive: the yellow stink of death. On stiff legs the girl finally pitched forward and went to the Queen’s side. With brisk movements she attempted to rid all the chains and gags, her muscles standing at attention. Her eyes were dry. There was an empty ringing in her head as she removed the last rattle of chains from the behemoth. When at last the great Queen was free Sealink knelt on the dirty floor next to the gaping maw and wrapped her arms around the slick black skull, as she had done was a child.

“Mother,” Sealink murmured.

The great beast shifted.

A pinprick of warmth sparked in her mind, tiny at first, nothing but a tingling feeling at the back of her neck. Sealink froze, eyes wide, as the alien sensation grew and grew until it seemed to fill the universe of her mind. And then it spoke.

_Sssealink._

The voice sounded covered in dust, bent with age and pain. Sealink clutched convulsively at the sleek, dark head, suddenly hit with the uncompromising fact Queen Mèlintèlinas had not long left. Yet, as much as her own mouth worked to say “Mother,” not a sound could escape her throat. She had long imagined this moment: what she would say, what she would do. During the moments when hatred gripped her most she fantasized standing in front of the Queen and saying, “I hate you.” But her throat and tongue and mouth were frozen.

The Xenomorph Queen stirred, the long and cold digits scoring deep marks in the dirt floor.

 _Sssealink._ The voice grew in strength, and as if the very word lent vigor, the enormous body rose slightly, the tiny arms curling and uncurling as the dominant forearms pushed upward. The claws dragged across the floor, digging huge scores. It was like watching a wounded elephant attempt to stand after having its legs cut. Sealink almost wished the Queen would give up, die: anything to keep Her down. Couldn’t She see it was all over? She was dying. She had lost. Sealink got up and stepped away, so she was standing in front of the half-propped Queen. Someone in the background shifted—Ra’ka, perhaps. Sealink snapped her head around and snarled warning.

A wet sound emitted from deep within the hard, damp exoskeleton, and a blast of heat fanned Sealink’s hair. The girl turned in time to see the Queen’s secondary arms reach towards her and lay upon her head. The cold, hard weight stilled the girl. A great hissing filled the room as the lips peeled back from translucent teeth. Sealink could see her reflection in their shiny, wet surfaces.

The primary arms trembled, stilled, remained upright. Sealink stared into the face of the creature which had spared her, reared her, taught her. Her heart burned. It hurt to swallow.

 _My daughter. I crown you My successor._ The Queen struggled to stay propped upright, Her bulk swaying like a diseased oak in a yellow wind. _The one you call Damon shall be your mate: he shall be King, and you Queen. Will you take My final gift?_

Sealink felt herself standing on a precipice, her toes freezing from the upward draft rising from the yawing pit before her. The whole of her was cold, as if she had swum in a mountain stream in winter. She stared into the dying face of her Queen, at a face so hideous and unlike her own. Or was it she who was hideous, so warped and hard under the regime of the yautja? The girl who had stood in the wooded clearing so long ago was no more, lost. Breath filled her lungs, left. The universe in her head waited, spiraling slower and slower, growing fuzzy at the edges. Sealink lifted her chin, her eyes dry.

“I accept,” she said, and the hissing shrank to a whisper. The cavernous maw sank down to touch her forehead. The universe exploded with a wave of heat, and Sealink knew no more.

 

.

PART X

.

 

Sealink bolted awake. She sat upright and realized she was back in her little cell in Dauncha’s dwelling. She was alone. She allowed herself to wince as she felt the back of her head; it came back crusty with blood. As she moved her hand out of her hair, she noticed something black out of the corner of her eye. _Damon?_ She instantly jumped to her feet. A wave of dizziness brought her back down. There was no praetorian, but she was sure she had seen black. Then she saw it again. With slow, tentative movements, Sealink brought a strand of her own hair to her face.

The blonde locks were gone. It was now black, as if it had been dipped in ink. Rubbing and licking at it brought no change. Sealink let a numb hand fall and tried to understand. The fuzzy headache building between her eyes was no help. The last thing she remembered was the Xenomorph Queen, bending down and opening Her mouth wide as if to engulf her. But that shouldn’t explain her sudden change in hair colour, should it?

Sealink slowly got up and made her way to the other side of the room, to where the metal bowl of water waited for her. She sunk to her haunches and leaned over. For the third time in less than ten minutes, the girl froze.

Her eyes. What had been blue irises were now ink. It was if staring at a stranger with the black hair and black eyes. Sealink took in slow, deep breaths as she sat back. She closed her eyes. _Think,_ she thought. _Think. There has to be a rational explanation for this. Maybe this is a yautja trick._

And Sealink would have been entirely convinced it was a yautja’s doing, had it not been for the odd sense of déjà-vu. There was a warmth in her mind previously not there, a warmth she had only experienced in the presence of the Queen. Sealink stilled under the implications. She licked sandpaper lips.

 _Mother_? she thought.

No answer, not even a ripple. Sealink opened her eyes and bared her teeth. She threw the water dish and watched it clang against the wall. Water gushed everywhere. The girl ran a hand through inkblot hair. She propped her back up against a wall and hugged her knees to her chest. She buried her head between then and squeezed her eyes shut. The niggling warmth was there, soothing and familiar. If she pretended, she could see herself in her Mother’s presence. A wave of self-loathing snarled up. What good was make-believing like a child? Sealink went to her feet and began to pace. Mother did not help her when she was first captured, nor would she help now. She was dead. So what if Sealink thought she could sense Her? The only person who could help her now was herself.

But what did the Xenomorph behemoth mean by Sealink being the next Queen? The girl stopped pacing. An idea began to form in her mind, timid at first. She touched her hair and the lids of her eyes. She wet her lips with a darting tongue and closed her eyes.

 _Damon_? she thought. She pictured her mind, with the vast galaxy of spiraling arms. It was warm, and all-encompassing. There were specks of bright stars littered throughout her awareness, like fireflies on a summer’s night. She honed in on one particular grain of sand, more vivid than the rest. Her heartbeat thudded in her ears at the incredulity of her actions. She was both embarrassed and exhilarated. _Damon, can you hear me?_

For a long moment Sealink strained in the warmth of her own mind and felt nothing. Then, faintly:

_sealink? is that you?_

Sealink jolted forward. _Damon! Damon!_

She _felt_ the praetorian draw back in pain. _too bright, sealink._

Sealink laughed out loud and shrank in surprise at how harsh and jarring her voice sounded. _I haven’t laughed in so long,_ she thought to herself.

 _you had nothing to laugh at,_ Damon said.

Sealink frowned. _You heard that?_

 _you were still connected to me._ The praetorian’s voice was tinny and small, as if he had a gnat’s throat. Sealink couldn’t stop listening.

 _Where are you?_ she asked.

 _why don’t you find for yourself?_ Damon said.

_How?_

_enter my mind. see what i see._

Sealink was about to say, “But you don’t have eyes,” but remember her brethren didn’t need eyes to see.

 _How do I do that?_ she asked. _This is all very new to me._

There was a pause, then: _didn’t the queen tell you before she passed on her rule to you?_

 _No,_ Sealink said. _She didn’t. All She told me was I was to be Queen, and you would be King._

There was another pause, longer this time. _hone in on my being and slip inside. it is your right as queen._

Sealink concentrated. She did as she was instructed and let the walls around her fade to nothing. She was floating on nothing, surrounded in a vast vacuum of space and stars and galaxies. She saw the Damon-star and willed her body towards it. She was a bullet, a projectile: her organs should have been crushed at the speed she moved, but weren’t. Closer and closer she came, until the very brightness of her friend’s being made her want to shield her eyes. She entered the vivid brilliance and everything became black. The space she was in was tight, like a meat glove. Sealink felt herself shift, except it wasn’t her limbs moving, it was Damon’s. She instantly became aware of the differences. She was stronger, taller than normal. Her backward-bending hind legs were tucked beneath her. Her tail was wound around her forelimbs. Her head turned. It was then she realize she could see in echolocation, everything in sounds and distances. She heard the metal around her, heard the four inches between her muzzle and the glass wall of her prison. She focused beyond the glass and heard the same metallic corridors of Te-kn’ha’s arena. Ra’ka hadn’t been lying, then.

 _Damon?_ she said, pitching her ‘voice’ to a whisper.

 _I would say I am here, but that would be moot._ The praetorian’s voice was strong, quiet. Whatever joy he had for being with her was felt though something akin to nuzzling. It was warm and sweet. The girl laughed, causing the body around her to shudder. Sealink stopped immediately.

 _Did I hurt you?_ she asked.

 _No, it . . . was an unfamiliar sensation. Not unpleasant, but . . ._ Here Damon’s words stopped and an image came to mind. It was a rabbit, a long-eared buck. It was sitting in some undergrowth, its ink-brown eyes blinking. Then it was in a river, being tossed head-over-heels like some living cartwheel. Sealink was unsure of what was up and what was down. All around it bubbles pressed against its skin like thousands of tiny fingers. The girl closed her inner mind and the image was gone. She could feel Damon watching her.

 _This is all unfamiliar to me,_ Sealink said at last.

 _You will get used to it,_ Damon replied.

 _Not if Dauncha or another yautja kill me,_ Sealink said. A lull fell between the two captives. The praetorian she had know had also changed. His essence was harder, colder. It reminded her of Kaylon’s no-nonsense attitude. But did that make him damaged, or improved? At what point did a tragic experience such as this warranted the label ‘monster?’ He was still her Damon, right?

Damon tapped one long, cold finger on the ground. _This place sounds old. The metal here has seen much, and it is not as advanced as the ones of the ship which brought me here. I have already judged the routine of the yautja which guard me. It would be a simple matter for me to break free._

 _We have to find a ship,_ Sealink said. _Or steal one._ It was only then did she realize how much easier their escape would be without the enormous bulk of the Queen slowing them down. Instantly she shoved the thought aside and hoped Damon didn’t pick up on her ungratefulness. She shook her head, which in turn shook Damon’s.

 _If you can find the same ship as the one which took you,_ Damon said, _it should have our world located in its database._

 _I know where the ship is,_ Sealink said. _Getting on it would be no problem._ She growled with despair. _But I have no idea how to work those systems. Their written language is gibberish to me. How the hell am I supposed to figure it out?_

 _What’s the matter, Sealink? Going to let a few words stop you?_ Damon said, mocking. _The Xenomorph I knew would never let an obstacle get in her way._

_That person is dead. And I’m not a Xenomorph: I’m human._

A chilly paused followed. Sealink resisted the urge to rub her arms. She felt the praetorian swivel his entire attention to her, and without meaning to she found herself trying to move in a submissive position. Her being cowered beneath the Xenomorph’s eyeless gaze.

 _You are the Queen’s daughter, now Queen herself._ Damon’s voice was expressionless, without reproof or anger. But it was chilled to a razor’s edge. _If being Queen is not Xenomorph . . . then I don’t know what is._

 _I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking,_ Sealink said.

The chilly persona warmed a little. _This capture wasn’t kind to you,_ Damon said after a moment. _Yes. You are no longer the companion you once were. There is hatred and coldness where there was warmth and good will. But that doesn’t mean all of you is changed._

Sealink couldn’t help it. She laughed again, despite Damon’s shuddering reaction. _I’m a killer for the yautja. I think about murder all the time. Oh, and I happen to be a Xenomorph Queen too. How can I possibly be the same person as before?_

Sealink felt the praetorian’s lips lift from even, silver teeth. His presence, if possible, detangled itself from its embrace with her and retreated. _If you think you no longer are of the same essence, and the Sealink I knew is truly gone, then the yautja had truly done their work well. Please. Leave me._

When Sealink opened her eyes, she found herself back in her cell, alone.

 

.s.

 

“I don’t trust it.”

Sealink stared at the impassive figure of the Trainer. His arms were crossed over the massive scarred chest. He avoided looking at her. She swung her gaze towards Dauncha. The orangish yautja was frowning, the mandibles clustered around his humanlike mouth twitching and jerking.

“It is . . . particular,” Dauncha said. He rubbed his chin, eyes clouded.

“Don’t like it. You should get rid of it,” Ra’ka repeated.

Sealink resisted the urge to bare her teeth at him. She remained crouched in her submissive position, trying to make herself appear nonintrusive. Dauncha said nothing. Ra’ka hissed, then in one huge motion had Sealink swinging in the air.

“Tell Dauncha how you made these changes, tetch-na. Spit it out!”

Sealink struggled to get the hot, meaty hand away from her neck. “Don’t know! Don’t know!” she said. “Me wake up to find it. Me said . . . don’t . . . know!”

“Ra’ka, drop her before you wring her neck,” Dauncha said.

The massive yautja did as he was told and Sealink skittered out of reach. She massaged her neck and shot Ra’ka a jaundiced look. Ra’ka flared his two remaining functioning mandibles at her.

“Enough!” Dauncha growled, eyes flashing. Both Sealink and Ra’ka subsided. The orange yautja fixed Sealink a hard look, his yellow eyes stones from beneath the jutting eyebrow. “I think you’re not telling us the truth.”

Sealink began to wail. “Me wake up, me don’t know! Please, please!”

Dauncha leaned back, disgusted.

Ra’ka clacked his jaws. “Could be nothing.”

The other snorted. “You said yourself you don’t trust it. _I_ don’t trust it. There was a reason for the change, and I want to find out. Oomans don’t randomly change both hair and eye colour.”

Ra’ka grunted. “Could have something to do with that old Queen’s death. And this one isn’t quite ooman, as you said.”

Sealink felt both heavy gazes land on her like physical weights. The girl swallowed hard. “Okay . . . okay! Me know.”

Ra’ka grinned. “What did I say?” he said, but Dauncha didn’t look at him. His eyes pierced Sealink like metal hooks, refusing to let go.

“Tell me,” Dauncha said, voice gentle. His eyes were anything but.

With slow, halting words, Sealink explained how the old Queen transferred Her powers to a new, young Queen back on the same homeworld She had come from. The change in eye and hair colour was simply residual effects coming in contact with the Xenomorph monarch’s mind. When Sealink was done talking she fell silent. Her eyes darted between Ra’ka and Dauncha as the orange yautja leaned back. His mandibles had lost their agitated jerks and regained their smooth, lazy circles. Sealink ducked her head to hide her vicious grin.

She only had a shadow of warning before a foot smashed her face. Sealink gasped in pain and fell backward. She scrambled away, her nose gushing blood as Ra’ka repositioned his leg. Dauncha looked on placidly.

“That was for lying,” Ra’ka said. Sealink wiped the blood away and spat some out. Ra’ka leaned forward. The girl edged backward, hissing. The Trainer flicked a mandible at Dauncha. “You going to allow this disrespect?”

Dauncha clicked. Ra’ka’s mouth stretched as he took a menacing step forward.

“Wait!” Sealink said. “Beat me, and no get new Queen!”

“Oh-ho? What’s this?” Ra’ka said. “Bargaining to avoid the beating you deserve?”

Sealink ignored the scarred yautja. She nodded at Dauncha, her heart thudding in against her ribs. “Want new Queen? Me know where she is. She strong. Healthy. Give Daun-cha many egg. Many kainde amedhe. Many wealth.”

Dauncha lifted a lazy hand. “Hold it, Ra’ka.” The Trainer did as he was told, though he shot Sealink a dirty look. He stepped away, his expression promising unfinished retribution. Sealink acted as if not to notice.

Dauncha crouched down at the girl’s level. “Why should I trust you, my Oo-kai’dhe? You’ll do anything to get revenge for what I’ve done to you.”

Sealink wiped more blood away from her nose. When her hand drew away it was covered in the red fluid. She then thought of a Xenomorph’s acidic lifeblood, and shuddered. “Daun-cha right. Me want save life. Me no want to die.”

“Die? You’re too valuable to me. You make me rich,” Dauncha said. His dreadlocks gleamed like oiled snakes in the dim light.

Sealink shook her head. “But me get beat. Bad. Make bad fighter. How me fight if hurt? No win you wealth.”

Dauncha _kurr_ ’d laughter. “You hear this, Ra’ka? Little Oo-kai’dhe is turning out to be a fine creature of business!”

Ra’ka grunted, but made no other reply. Dauncha’s chuckles died down quickly. His eyes were metal hooks, sinking into Sealink’s. “Are you saying you would be willing, freely, to give me the location of your new Queen?”

“You no beat me. You no kill me. Promise. Then yes. Me show you,” Sealink said.

“Why should I care?” Dauncha said. “You make me rich enough.”

Sealink shrugged. “I ooman. I no live long. I die in fight. Kainde amedhe Queen? She long live. She give you fine egg. You no want wealth? No worry of Oo-kai’dhe.”

Dauncha’s mandibles went still, then twitched. A soft clicking sound emerged from deep within his narrow chest. Sealink pretended not to notice how his eyes gleamed. Even through her blood-clotted nose, she could smell the stink of greed rising off him.

“I think we could come to something,” Dauncha said. “After you give me the location—”

“No! You take me.”

Dauncha cocked his head. “Oh?”

“You no take, me no show.”

Dauncha made a sharp _tch!_ sound. “What’s stopping me from just beating the information out of you?” he said, his teeth sharp.

Sealink didn’t blink. “Me no tell, even if beat. You kill me. No Oo-kai’dhe. No kainde amedhe Queen. No wealth.”

For a long moment neither the girl nor Dauncha broke eye contact. Then, with slow movements, the orange yautja leaned back and rose from his crouch.

Ra’ka clacked his jaws together in a hollow sound. “Want me to do it?” he asked roughly.

Dauncha flicked a mandible at him and _kurr_ ’d. “Not this time,” he said. “This time, I think I’ll humor Oo-kai’dhe.”

Ra’ka made a coughing noise. “Dauncha, you think that’s wise?”

“Challenging my word?” Dauncha said, and with a slow tilt of his head glanced at his companion.

Ra’ka bowed his head and thumped his chest with a fist. “Course not.”

“Good. Then assemble my best hunting team. I want all the rigs for a Queen hunt,” Dauncha said.

Ra’ka thumped his chest again and exited Sealink’s cell. Dauncha made a move to follow him, but paused just before the glass wall of the cell. There was a moment where Dauncha paused. “Oh, before I forget,” he said, voice offhand, “because the Queen died and you didn’t get her to lay more eggs, I rescind my offer of allowing you to visit your _companion._ ” Then he was gone, a faint whiff of musk clinging to the air. The girl waited several tense seconds to make sure they wouldn’t come back before putting a hand to her chest. Her heart was a bird batting against her ribs. She closed her eyes and concentrated.

It was easier the second time to find Damon. He was still in the tiny holding cell, his long, skeletal hands crossed over each other as canines are wont to do. Sealink slipped in as easily as fitting in a well-loved glove. She felt Damon’s essence stir at the intrusion, but did little more than that.

 _Damon, listen to me,_ Sealink said. _I think I convinced Dauncha to go back to our homeworld._

She felt the praetorian listening. As she waited for an answer, or acknowledgement, the silence grew. Sealink bared her teeth and felt Damon’s lips wrinkle.

_I’m not the same Sealink you once knew. I don’t think that Sealink will ever come back, or if she does, it won’t be any time soon. She was hurt, Damon, and hurt a lot. She learned to kill, and to kill well. There’s a part of her she can’t shake away, a cold part, and it scares her how easily she can slip into it. But with your help, and the help of the Hive, I will try to learn to be Sealink again, the Sealink you remember. But I can’t do it without your help. You are important to me, more important than anyone else in my life. Will you help me, Damon._

Sealink waited again, feeling breathless though she was nothing but an awareness in another creature’s body. It was only when Damon’s essence began to nuzzle hers did Sealink relax. She felt herself smile, and an image of winter sunshine came to her mind.

 _Thank you,_ she said.

 _Get us off this wretched planet,_ Damon said, _and I will hold you to it._

 

.s.

 

Sealink told herself it was fear of reentering the yautja ship which had her wrung so tight, but she knew she was deluding herself. Since the moment she learned she would be leaving, she was unable to sit still. Pacing became a commonplace. Any time she was allowed out of her cell for exercise was wasted as she sat, stood, decided to sit, then stood again a moment later in agitation. She became especially tense around Ra’ka, as the Trainer never took his eyes off her. If before he had been a cloud in her life, he was a winter wind now. Though never disobeying Dauncha outright, Sealink had to sidestep the occasional ‘friendly’ kick aimed in her direction. He hounded her steps. As much as the girl wished she could tear apart the other side of his face, Sealink forced herself not to react. Not now. Not when freedom was so close to her fingertips.

Slipping into Damon’s body was as easy as breathing now. When she was with him she could manipulate his body, or tell him where to go. It had been a risk, but in the end a good one. One night, a few weeks before the scheduled Queen hunt, Damon broke free from his confines and escaped, thanks to Sealink’s farseeing help. He slipped into the jungle and had hidden there, waiting for the girl’s signal to sneak onto the ship. Apparently there had been little fanfare; either there was embarrassment or dishonor involved, for Sealink heard nothing about Damon’s breakout from either Ra’ka or Dauncha. The ability to sense the praetorian’s presence eased her fear of his safety or location. When she finally made him slink onto the ship, it was as if she was besides him. She made him find a tiny space in all of the metal and told him to wait.

At last the day came. The twin suns beat down as the hunting party loitered in front of the docking ramp. They were seven in number, all muscles and fishnets and dreadlocks. They chittered and sneered when Sealink was brought before them, but the girl paid them little mind. This was a bigger number than she had expected. _Nothing we can’t handle,_ she thought, eying each and every dead yautja walking. She recognized the red yautja from her original capture, and how he had been the one to bind her hands. She narrowed her eyes. She made herself look away, back towards the dwelling she would be leaving for—prey to the All Mother—for the last time. _No,_ she decided, _it will be for the last time. If I fail, then I will make sure there is nothing left for Dauncha to bring back._ The internal vow, the darkest yet she had made, made her jittery nerves subside into a lake of calm. Somewhere within the warm universe in her mind she could sense Damon stirring, perhaps in response to her change of demeanor. She brushed him away, sending only the briefest sensations of assurance.

Sealink squinted against the sun as Dauncha strode towards her. He was as she had first met him: decked in strategic armor, covered in small skulls and bones, his body covered in a thermal-regulating fishnet, a dark pewter mask encasing his elongated crab-like face. The blank, eerie eyeslits peered down at her as the yautja hunting leader inclined his head to her. Ra’ka stood in the background, impassive, arms crossed over chest. The young pup hung about at his calves. A look of intense longing painted the pup’s face. Sealink forced herself not to notice. She neither waved goodbye nor made any motion of parting. She suddenly became glad she decided not to murder the pup. One less thing on her conscious, she supposed.

Sealink let herself be herded into the dark maw of the ship. The air became filled with clanging as sandaled clawed feet strode across the metal dock. Sealink winced at the unfamiliar sensation of metal grating across the soles of her bare feet. Humidity suddenly became artificial dryness as she left the sunlight and fresh air.

 _Never again,_ she thought.

“Move it,” a yautja said. It was the red-skinned yautja, voice bored behind the mask. Sealink was then put into a holding cell nearly identical to the one she had been originally brought in. It might’ve even been the same one. Sealink found herself sitting down. She didn’t know how long she sat there, unmoving, face forward. Her heart was a constant thing in her chest, slow and rhythmic. She closed her eyes.

_Damon?_

_I’m here._

_Soon._

_I know._

 

.s.

 

Sealink didn’t know how many days passed. She grew hungry, satisfied, hungry again. She slept, woke, slept again. There was no little yautja child to keep her company. Last time she was homesick, shocked, lonely, terrified. Now she was a killer, a creature who had seen death and walked away from it. The yautja on the ship were her prey, her captives. They didn’t know what she had become, and who she had stowed away. She knew her plan had worked: all the Predators who knew the planet’s location were here. The ship which knew of her world was here. There was nothing left to trace her homeworld back.

She closed her eyes.

_Damon? Are you alone?_

_Yesss._ Sealink could hear the sibilance in her mind rasp like a snake. She took in a deep breath and released it. It was now or never; she could not risk having more members of her Hive hurt if they landed on the surface. They would have to get rid of the yautja.

Sealink slipped into Damon’s essence and watched as they gently crept out of the hideaway. Their cold hands found the floor and Sealink felt Damon use his echolocation to locate the nearest air duct. With soundless leap, they were gone, like a shadow for all the noise made.

After a moment or two of feeling the walls crush all around them, Damon said, _Relax, Sealink. Your fear isn’t helping._

 _Sorry,_ Sealink said. _Should I go?_

 _It doesn’t matter,_ the praetorian said. He stopped and peered down the grating of the air duct. _Because here we are._

Sealink saw through Damon’s vision herself. She was still in the same position as she had been: cross-legged, back straight, arms resting on legs. Her eyes were closed. Her hair gleamed red in the murky lighting. Her chest rose and fell in nearly indiscernible movements.

 _Sealink?_ It was Damon. The girl slipped away and felt herself leave the tight, comfortable confines of the Xenomorph’s being. She opened her eyes. She was back in her own body. She looked up and found Damon’s monstrous face through the metal grating. She got up.

“Can you push through?” Sealink asked. She looked over her shoulder. The corridor was empty, just as it had been empty for the past hour.

 _Wait for me,_ the praetorian said. The grinning face retreated from the grating and only the straining of Sealink’s ears could hear the faintest sound of sliding chitin on metal. A minute passed, then two. The girl’s face never left the place Damon had been. Then something tapped on the glass. Sealink turned and found herself nearly face-to-face with Damon’s glistening black one. His breath fogged the glass. His lips peeled back from silvery, translucent teeth and the knifetail came down on the combination lock on her cage. There was a sputter of sparks and a small metallic crash, then silence. Sealink didn’t wait. She pushed open the glass door and stepped out. Her expression became unfocused when she began stroking Damon’s jaw where the exposed ligaments met the sternocleidomastoid muscle. The praetorian was quiet under her ministrations.

“Dauncha is mine,” Sealink murmured. “Kill everyone else, but he’s mine.”

Damon slipped down the dark corridor, as sleek as shadow. Sealink fell in step. She was back in front of the metal door of the arena, ready for a gladiatorial fight. She could feel her blood pulsing through her veins and shudder in her ears. Her right hand convulsed into a fist, searching for the weapon that wasn’t there. The balls of her feet were soundless on the warm metal floor as she hurried after Damon. She glanced down every auxiliary corridor, tense for a sight of a dreadlock, or a reptilian arm. She bumped into Damon.

“Damon, why—”

The praetorian side-stepped and Sealink saw the entrance of the weapons’ room. The girl slipped inside and was met with four whole walls covered in weapons: spears, guns which shot deadly nets, wristblades, plasma cannons of all sorts, knives, short curving swords, shuirkens, disks, propelled spears, and comisticks. Her noise crinkled at the smell of polishing oil and metal.

 _Quickly!_ Damon said from outside the door. _Something’s coming._

Sealink grabbed a collapsible spear and a dagger and hurried out of the room. Footsteps, the sound of something heavy, was approaching down the way. Damon was bristling by her side.

 _This is a disadvantageous place to fight,_ the praetorian said. _We have to hurry._

Sealink craned her neck over the skeletal shoulder. “I have an idea,” she said. “Get in that other corridor.”

Damon did as he was told, hissing as he squeezed himself past Sealink. He crouched as a canine, paws out in front, haunches tense. Sealink sunk by his head and attempted to reach the praetorian’s mind without closing her eyes.

 _What do you see?_ she said.

If Damon was surprised, he made no show of it. _A yautja. Solitary. What’s your plan?_

 _Get ready to kill,_ Sealink said. Then she got up and stood in the middle of the corridor before the Xenomorph could stop her. Sealink had enough time to stand before the yautja spotted her. He was one of the smaller ones, his frame lanky and armorless. He wore a mask. Sealink peeled her lips back and hissed. Then turned around and began to run.

The yautja waited only a second more before giving chase. He took two steps, a roar building in his throat, when suddenly black death fell upon him. The yautja had a moment to snarl when Damon used his secondary maw to explode a hole in the yautja’s skull. Bioflorescent blood dripped everywhere. Damon retreated, clicking under his breath.

Sealink knelt by his side, breathless, eyes gleaming. “You hurt?” she asked.

 _No,_ Damon said.

“Help me carry this thing in the weapons’ room. We can’t have the others arming themselves,” Sealink said.

The tendons in the praetorian’s legs strained as Sealink helped drape the yautja carcass over his back. Soon the yautja was stacked on the floor and hidden away. Sealink spat on the corpse and straightened. She smiled a wolf’s grin at Damon, all teeth and no mirth. “Let’s go.”

The next Predator put up more of a struggle. Damon went away with a cut across a forelimb, which a drop of it fell on the yautja’s thigh. The creature’s yowls echoed up and down the metal corridors before Sealink could slit his throat. The yautja seized in the throes of death before slumping against a wall. Damon panted over him, lips writhing over humanesque teeth. Sealink put a hand on his shoulder and gripped her spearhead. The two of them waited in silence as pounding feet and roars came from the depths of the ship.

“Whatever happens, if we don’t make it—”

_I love you._

Sealink had a moment to stare agape at her companion before the first of the yautja appeared. It was the red one, his roars of fury doubling at the sight of his dead friend. Damon leapt to meet him. The two monsters met with a thunderous crash as violence ripped through the ship. Sealink craned her head to catch a glimpse of Dauncha but had to duck to avoid Damon’s whipping tail. She backed away as the corridor began filling with bodies.

“Dauncha!”she cried. “Dauncha, you coward! Fight me!”

“I knew you were cunning—” Sealink whirled around. Dauncha’s maskless face blazed at her, “—but this is exceptional.”

Sealink ducked as a blade whistled at her head. It connected with the side of the ship with a sharp _clang!_ and a shower of sparks. She rolled to the side and tried to find her feet. She whipped her head in time to avoid a fist. It smashed down and made a dent in the plating. Dauncha snarled as Sealink darted past and attempted to stab him. He whirled around. Sparks flew as his wristblades met her spearhead. She gasped as the spearhead was torn from her grasp. Sealink fell back and tried to find her footing, find her rhythm. The yautja was relentless. Before the girl could make a move she found herself pinned to the wall. A blast of sour breath fanned her face as she stared deep in the yellow eyes of her captor. They gleamed. Hatred, black and bitter, seized her chest. She spat in the crab-like face. Dauncha froze, mandibles wide.

Stars exploded behind her eyes as the yautja smashed brows with hers. Sealink’s head rocketed back and hit the siding of the ship. A scalding hand wrapped around her throat and squeezed, hard. Sealink clawed at the meaty forearm, gasping for breath.

Dauncha leaned in, mandibles twitching in single, hard jerks. “You overstepped yourself, Oo-kai’dhe,” he said. His breath came and went in short, heavy pants. The pressure built. “You won’t live to see it, but when I find the rest of your Hive, I’m going to kill every, single one.” Sealink began to gurgle. One hand dropped away. “And then I’m going to find that Queen, and I’m going to—”

Sealink stabbed the dagger that had been tucked in her belt deep in Dauncha’s right eye. The yautja reared back and howled. Sealink wheezed and gasped, her limbs heavy and sluggish. She watched blood pour from Dauncha’s socket as if from a distance. Sounds were foggy, as if heard from underwater. With a trembling hand Sealink touched her throat, wincing. With slow, shaky movements, the girl stood up. She saw her death clearly, not moments away. She wiped spittle away from her face with the back of her hand and sneered:

“You die, Daun-cha. Son no see you. He think, ‘Where is Daun-cha? He dead, he no strong warrior. He no worthy of life. Puny ooman kill him. Me not end up like coward Daun-cha!’”

Rage lit in the yautja’s remaining eye. At the last word the yautja leapt for her, arms outstretched, claws jagged. Sealink squeezed her eyes shut and braced.

The sound of flesh hitting exoskeleton tore Sealink’s attention up as a swath of black exploded from the corridor and t-boned the yautja. Her mouth dropped as the two titans, both covered in blood, crashed to the floor and began slugging each other. Damon ripped and tore as the orange yautja used his feet to kick him off. The praetorian rolled away before leaping for more, cold fingers extended, mouth stretched wide. Dauncha strained to hold the Xenomorph back, mandibles flared to their widest. He tossed Damon as if he weighed nothing. The yautja crouched down, roaring. Damon circled the best he could in the limited space of the corridor, lips writhing over silver teeth, tail lashing. He hissed, spraying saliva.Then he leapt. Sealink closed her eyes and was leaping with him, feeling the air pass over her limbs as she struck the yautja for the final time. Her eyeless head lifted and fell; she was Damon, was the Xenomorph, and the teeth which tore at the yautja’s great life-vein was hers. Her claws sank into the twitching limbs and her tail stabbed him again and again. She was Xenomorph, she was Queen, and when at last Damon stood panting over the corpse of her enemy, she opened her mouth and _skree_ ’d her battlecry.

Only after the savage bloodlust left Sealink did she open her eyes and was in her human body. Damon was in front of her, his frame dwarfing hers. On skeletal, wiry limbs he crouched down before her, lips finally quiet over teeth. Sealink raised a hand and let it glide across the scarred, hard surface of his chitin. She leaned against him and found herself wrapping her arms around his neck, a movement she had done instinctively since a small girl.

 _Are you hurt?_ It was Damon, voice low and quiet in the warmth of her mind.

Sealink shook her head. “No. Just tired.”

_You’ll have plenty of opportunity now to sleep. With the ship on autopilot, we’ll get home soon._

As the girl registered the praetorian’s words, never once did the improbability of the scene crossed her mind: she, with her soft human body embracing he, the sleek and deadly monster. She knew she wasn’t like the other members of her Hive. She, despite some snatches of awareness-sharing, would never possess a Xenomorph body. But this she finally knew was certain:

She was Sealink, and she was going home.

 

.

 

.

 

_._

 

_fin_


End file.
